


Home Is Where The Heart Is

by hazel_lannister



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Muggle, Angst, Draco is a power bottom and you can fight me, Fluff, M/M, Past Drug Addiction, Pining, Sleepy Cuddles, Smut, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Top Harry, Workaholic Harry, author is trash, harry is a lil angsty, lots of pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-10-14 01:43:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17499239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazel_lannister/pseuds/hazel_lannister
Summary: Draco has been kicked out for being homosexual in a family with old fashioned values and falls upon drugs and homelessness. Ostracized by his family and friends, he has nowhere to go once he has served his time. Enter Harry, owner of a well-known tech company who works too much for his own good and struggles to form relationships with people. In helping Draco get back on his feet, Harry inevitably falls for the other man, even though it is clear he will never return his feelings.Yes, I know it's trash and predictable af, but I had fun writing it so...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know that there is past drug addiction but there is no actual drug use in the story, just some reference to it fyi.
> 
> Also please please leave comments, they bring me life and make me edit sooooo much faster!

Harry is volunteering at the shelter for the third time this week. Hermione says it’s because it’s a good distraction from going home alone, but Ron argues that he’s too nice for his own good. Knowing Hermione as he does, she’s probably right, not that he’ll ever admit it to her. After losing Sirius, being here is always the closest thing he can get to helping ease his remorse. 

It’s just that so many of the people there are there under unfortunate circumstances or paying for the mistakes made years ago. It makes it easier dealing with the world knowing he’s doing what he can about it. 

Tonight, he’s handing out bowls of soup from behind the counter. Some of the people are externally grateful, giving him smiles sometimes showing some rotten teeth, others give a timid nod, while many don’t acknowledge him at all. Harry understands. No one wants to admit they need help and these people are no different, and it was sad that so many are to the point of even seeking it when it is clearly the last thing they want to do and their last resort. 

Most who come to the shelter deep in the city of London are homeless, while others are incredibly poor, here for the free meals. Harry likes to imagine their stories, and has even talked to some about how they ended up here. Harry is lucky. His parents left him enough to get an education when they died and from there he was able to create his own company.

A young man that couldn’t have been more than a few years older than Harry had recounted how he had been living with his girlfriend when she wanted to end things, and instead of discussing the matter and splitting their assets and at least  _ talking _ about the shared apartment, she had called the cops, claiming that he was abusive. He was kicked out of his own home and had no family to rely on, and lost his job shortly after. 

It’s the stories like those that are the worst, knowing that just about anyone could end up in a similar, unexpected situation. The situations of bad luck. 

Harry is finishing up handing out the supper, nearly ready to begin on some of the dishes, when he shows up. He’s blonde, blonder than anyone Harry had seen in his entire life, and though he’s dirty as the rest of the people who live on the streets are, his hair is still smooth and it’s clear that the man has at least attempted to maintain it. 

His clothes aren’t in the best shape but they are nice, a pale blue button up and black jeans that hugs his arse, Harry can’t help but notice, and it’s a rare sight for someone to have such clothing. In fact, the man himself is a bit of an enigma to Harry, somehow in some ways appearing to be of a high class while in others he very clearly is not. 

Despite his nicer clothes and somewhat kept hair, his face is sharp and angular, nearly elvish, and it’s clear the man hasn’t had a good meal in some time. Or perhaps it’s drugs that made him so thin. There are dark circles beneath his eyes, prominent against his pale complexion, and Harry suddenly comes back to himself to realize that the grey eyes are fixed on him, his brows pulled together with confusion and suspicion. 

Ah. He was waiting for the bowl that Harry had probably been holding for an awkward amount of time. “Sorry,” Harry says, handing him the soup with an apologetic smile. The man is still looking at him in that intrigued way but he gives a tiny nod and takes the bowl and spoon to a table as far from other people as he can get. 

As Harry continues handing out soup, he watches the unusual man; he can’t help it. He is easily the most attractive person he’d ever seen in real life and it was disarming the way those eyes could stare right into his mind it seemed. The man places the paper towel he’s grabbed for a napkin on his lap and Harry almost chuckles if he wasn’t too busy gaping. He picks up the plastic spoon and holds in almost delicately in his hand and begins to eat. 

It’s definite, then. The man has clearly been brought up in a wealthy, upperclass family and has been bred to eat and behave in a certain way. But what is he doing here? Harry watches until he’s finished his meal and heads over to one of the many cots they have set up and lies down. 

… 

The man is back the next day, and the day after that. Everyday, he comes in at night with one of those reusable grocery bags that Harry assumes contains his clothes and things. He comes in when dinner is almost over, eats in his prim and proper way, and then goes to sleep. 

Harry tries not to watch him, tries to give him his space each night, but it’s growing increasingly difficult. He doesn’t quite know what it is about the man that disarms him so; perhaps the fact that he’s a sea of contradictions, both well dressed and living on the streets, unkempt in appearance but also disarmingly attractive. Maybe it’s just the last part, that he’s the most beautiful man Harry’s ever seen. 

Harry has had his share of relationships, as a man of some means, he has never found an issue with finding people who would be interested in him, but too many are after his money. Those people are good for the occasional one night stand but not much more. 

The man never speaks, never says ‘thank you’ out loud, but his eyes show a slight glimmer of polite gratitude and he always gives Harry the barest of nods when he hands him supper. 

Harry always shakes himself out of it when he catches himself watching the stranger eat with small, controlled bites as though he isn’t nearly skin and bone. 

“Why don’t you take off early, you’ve seemed out of sorts lately,” Jason, a fellow volunteer says giving him a friendly pat on the back. 

Harry nearly drops the plate he’s been washing, startled at having been caught and he’s sure his ears are as red as Ron’s hair. “I’m alright,” he gets out, setting the dish on the drying rack. 

“You work too hard, how do you ever have time for a social life?” Jason asks with a chuckle, taking the dish and drying it with a towel. 

Harry huffs a tired laugh and begins washing the next one. “I don’t. But you’re right, I have an early meeting tomorrow morning.” He gives a grateful smile as Jason takes his place at the sink. He gives a half wave to the other volunteers in the kitchen and heads back to his flat. 

…

The meeting goes well and the business has agreed to the sum that Harry’s company has offered, and  _ Merlin _ is now the proud owner of yet another tech company. Harry’s company has focused for several years now on new forms of clean energy and hopefully cheaper technology so that information could be more readily available to anyone, not just the upper class. 

Because he’s exhausted and in desperate need of a caffeine break instead of lunch, Harry walks to the coffee shop two doors down. He orders a black coffee and is sitting at a table waiting when a platinum blonde head enters, holding a rectangular sign in his hand. 

He’s wearing the same clothes as always but his hair is neater than Harry’s ever seen it, like the man has run a comb through it rather than his fingers. He cranes his head and reads that the sign says  _ Help Wanted _ . 

So that’s what he does during the day, going around the city inquiring about job opportunities? The stranger brings the sign to the counter and Harry watches as the manager approaches, assessing the man from head to toe. His lips are set in a hard line and the blonde’s back is to Harry so he can’t see his expression. “You gotta record?” Ah. An American. 

“Could you clarify what you mean?” the blonde asks in turn and his voice is smooth and his accent is southern, the lilt and tone of his speech clearly well practiced, likely due to his upbringing. 

“Sorry, son,” the manager says, taking the sign from the other man’s hand, “we ain’t hiring.” 

The blonde man’s back straightens imperceptibly, his shoulders tensed with clear frustration. “But sir--” 

“We don’t hire felons, son. I’m sorry, but that’s policy. Now if you’re not gonna buy anything, I’ll have to ask you to leave.” The manager is large and his face shows that whatever patience he had a moment before is now gone. 

Before he can think about it, Harry is standing. “But--” the blonde says but the manager interrupts. 

“Listen, boy, either you leave here on your own or the cops can show you out.” Harry doesn’t know what the blonde will do; his shoulders are still tensed and ready, his body language now angry, but Harry doesn’t wait long enough to find out. 

He grasps the man’s elbow to get his attention and murmurs, “Is this worth the trouble? Come on, let me buy you a coffee somewhere else.” The other man looks at him critically for a moment and glances back at the manager for a brief moment before searching Harry’s gaze. For what, he doesn’t know. 

Finally, he nods and lets Harry lead him to the door. Harry distantly hears his name being called for his drink but he doesn’t turn back. They walk in silence to another café down the street and they sit in a cozy booth near the back. It’s a cheery place with pale green walls and forest colored seats. 

“Order what you want, I’m getting breakfast,” Harry says, glancing down at the menu. In his peripheral vision he sees the man watching him for a moment before opening his own menu. A waitress comes and fills up their cups with steaming coffee. 

“What can I get you this mornin’?” she asks warmly. 

“I’ll have the omelete please,” Harry says closing his menu and smiling up at her. She writes his order down and returns his smile before turning to his companion. 

“I’d like the french toast if you please,” he says quietly but gives her a polite nod, the very same he gives Harry each night. The waitress nods and walks away to put their orders in. 

The man gives Harry another assessing look, and it’s disarming how steely and closed off his eyes are as he looks at him with suspicion. It makes Harry wonder how much this man has gone through to make him so distrustful. 

“I’ve seen you before,” he states, seemingly as an opening to a conversation but he makes no effort to continue.

“Yes, I volunteer at the shelter. My name is Harry.” The stranger gives a small nod and adds cream and about three sugars to his coffee. Harry tries not to laugh.

He’s almost certain the other man isn’t going to give away his own name as he hasn’t looked up from his coffee cup for some time now but as he finishes stirring, the steel eyes fix on Harry’s once more, nearly startling him. “Draco,” the man says without any other context so Harry assumes it’s his name. Peculiar though it is. 

Harry takes a sip of his own coffee, black and hot how he likes it and Draco’s nose wrinkles in disgust. This time, Harry does chuckle aloud. Draco daintily sips his own coffee after placing his napkin in his lap, still grimacing at Harry’s cup. It’s the first emotion Harry’s seen on the other man’s face, who is usually so closed off and blank. He’s relieved to see him appear more human. 

“What were you in for, Draco,” he asks bluntly, figuring there’s little chance of him actually answering but that it’s worth it. He’s curious, afterall, and though it doesn’t look it, if it were a violent crime, perhaps Harry can get over this strange fascination with the handsome man he sees on the daily. 

Draco pauses in raising his mug, setting it down without taking a sip and giving Harry a hard stare for some time. Oh well, was worth a shot. 

“Went through a dark time. Got hooked on coke and got busted but I’ve been clean for almost three years.” He’s blunt, factual, and puts no emotion into his words as though he is the hollow shell of what used to be a man and though he had hurt at the time, he no longer feels the pain. 

They sit in silence for some time, each drinking their own coffees, if one could even call what Draco was drinking coffee anymore. “Do you have enough sugar for a refill?” Harry asks, half teasingly. 

Draco looks surprised but there is mirth dancing in his eyes. Good, he has a sense of humor. “Better than the dirt mixed with water you’re drinking,” he retorts after a moment and Harry barks out a surprised laugh. Draco looks just as surprised as Harry by the joke and it’s almost endearing. “Why did you help me today?” Draco asks suddenly and Harry’s face quickly becomes serious, setting his cup back on the table. 

“Incarceration and parolee issues are very important to me,” he replies vaguely, not ready to share quite so much with a near stranger. 

Draco looks at him intrigued and opens his mouth to say something but is interrupted by the waitress placing their breakfasts in front of them. Draco promptly closes his mouth before opening it once more to give a quiet, “Thank you,” to the woman. She smiles and nods. 

“Let me know if you need anything,” she says before heading over to another table.  

Draco puts an obscene amount syrup on his french toast and when a small chuckle escapes Harry’s lips, he looks up, eyes hard as though daring Harry to say something. But Harry just smiles and shakes his head and takes a large bite of his omelete so he has an excuse not to say anything. 

He glances back up at Draco and his eyes are slightly softer, humor dancing in the silver depths and he takes another syrupy bite with his brows raised. Harry tries to hold down his laugh because fuck that bite of omlette was too big and this is embarrassing, but his chest rumbles and gives him away.

Draco gives him a look that is both disgusted but humored in a distasteful sort of way, but Harry is just happy he’s not  _ entirely _ grossed out by the bite that would have intimidated  _ Ron _ of all people. 

…

They eat in companionable silence for much of the meal, exchanging small talk. Harry tells Draco about his company and his aspirations for the future of it, stuff he knows isn’t all that interesting to an outsider, but Draco listens with a politely intrigued look, nodding and humming in all the right places as though he’s been bred to do so. And he probably has. 

When he begins to explain the importance of cheaper technology because knowledge in this world is power, Draco perks up, his expression going from politely bemused to genuinely interested in a heartbeat. 

“Wait, you work for the company  _ Merlin _ ? You work for the man with the whole clean energy, free information mission?”

Harry flushes slightly; most people have heard of his company as the top growing enterprise to sell phones, computers, and things of the like, but not many know of Harry himself. He likes to keep his private life private, try as the press might to alter that fact. 

Draco continues after a beat. “What’s his name, Porter? Potter? Have you met him?” He’s looking at Harry almost excitedly and it’s disarming how attractive he is when he smiles. Fuck. What was the question again. 

Right. Potter. “I, uh, yeah. I’m Potter,” Harry stammers out picking up his nearly empty coffee cup and downing it so that he doesn’t have to look at Draco. 

He can see when he finally gets it because Draco’s face smooths over and he looks at Harry like he’s sitting naked in front of him. Harry hopes that’s not how he would look seeing him naked though… 

What?

“What’s Harry fucking Potter doing at a shelter every goddamn day? There for the pea soup?” Draco asks, his voice sharp but in his eyes there is a glint like he is almost teasing. 

“Like I said, parolee issues are important to me. Too many people there made a mistake in another life and are still paying the price for it.” Harry’s voice is hard and quiet; he doesn’t feel like going down this road again, down the road that leads him to thoughts of Sirius. 

Draco takes another bite of french toast and chews it consideringly. He eventually nods as though just having determined that Harry is not in fact there for selfish reasons. 

While they wait for the check, Harry digs out a scrap of paper from his pocket. He writes his address down and hands it to Draco who is gazing at him speculatively. “If you want a real place to stay while you find a job, this is where I live.” 

Draco looks at him and hesitates in taking the paper. Eventually, he does, looking over Harry’s messy handwriting. “Aren’t you married? Don’t you need to ask your wife before you invite hobos to stay with you?”

Harry chuckles and shakes his head. “I live alone so no worries about the vengeful wife.” 

Draco gives a small smile and they walk out the door together. Harry turns in the direction of his office while Draco stops where they stand. He looks at Harry one last time before giving him a small smirk. “See you around, Potter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoped you liked it so far, I will be sure to update asap, but please let me know what you thought!


	2. Chapter 2

Harry doesn’t expect Draco to take him up on the offer, he doesn’t seem like the one to accept help if he can avoid it, but even still, Harry doesn’t go to the shelter today. He stays in his apartment, working because what else is he going to do?

He finally resolves that Draco isn’t coming just before midnight and begins to get ready for bed, taking off his work clothes and pulling on a pair of pajama pants. He’s brushing his teeth when he hears a quiet knock on his door. 

He quickly rinses and spits, running to the door without considering the fact that he’s in a pair of flannel bottoms and nothing else. He whips open his door and Draco is standing there, all tall, lean, and beautiful with messy platinum hair and silver-grey eyes. He looks down at Harry’s attire, or lack thereof, eyes lingering on his abdomen and he is suddenly very warm, his flush no doubt visible from his chest up. 

Harry moves out of the way and Draco says nothing as he walks through the threshold, giving Harry’s place an assessing look. It’s a fine apartment with two bedrooms and a nice living space. Hermione picked out the furniture and helped him with all of the decorating so he knows the place looks nice. 

Draco’s fingertips trace the back of his sofa, feeling the cushy material almost reverently and once again Harry is supremely glad Hermione picked it out. He looks at the photos on the mantelpiece, the one with he, Ron and Hermione… the one with Ginny kissing his cheek that he couldn’t bare to get rid of after the breakup. 

“You can stay here,” Harry says, leading Draco down the hall to the bedroom across from his own. “Towels and toiletries are in the bathroom next to your room and, um…” he walks into his own bedroom, Draco hovering in the doorway curiously. Harry pulls out some of his work clothes, they appear to be similar enough sizes that it should be okay, and also pulls out some pajamas. “You can borrow these until you get a job and everything…” Draco nods and takes the proffered clothing. 

“Thank you,” he whispers quietly and turning to go to his own room. 

“Let me know if there’s anything else you need. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen or around the house… make yourself at home.” With that, he gives Draco a final nod and closes his bedroom door. He has another early morning tomorrow and he ought to get some rest, despite his whirring brain at the knowledge that a gorgeous man will be sleeping some twenty feet away. 

He slips into bed, crossing his arms behind his head to stare up at the ceiling. He hears nothing for some time, no wandering around, no trips to the kitchen, but after several minutes he hears the water running. Draco must be taking a shower. 

Like he needs  _ that _ image to help him sleep. Harry sighs and is relieved that sleep takes him before the water shuts off. 

… 

The next morning before sunrise, Harry is up and ready, preparing his own coffee, when he thinks about making extra for Draco. It’s different living with someone else again; he hasn’t had a roommate since college nor lived with anyone since Ginny. 

Now he wants to be mindful of the noise he makes in the early hours of the morning, make extra food and drink so that his housemate can partake as well. It’s nice caring for someone again, helping someone, even though it’s clear Draco is here because it is his very last resort and has few other options. But Harry is going to make the most of this and hopefully help Draco get back on his feet so that he isn’t dependent on anyone else anymore. 

He’s about to start the coffee maker when he realizes he doesn’t have milk or cream or anything of the sort that Draco would surely need to drink the coffee; he’s never had any need. He prefers it black and he hates the taste of milk. 

Grabbing his keys, he runs to the store to grab some creamer. 

… 

When Harry returns, the sun is just beginning to rise over the horizon, still much earlier than the average person awoke. He starts the coffee maker and sets out the muffins he bought from the grocery store while he was there. He makes his own travel mug and sets a mug out for Draco and labels a post-it to read  _ cream in fridge _ and sticks it on the cup. 

He then takes his leave and heads for work. 

…  

Harry goes to the shelter early today so that he can get home early. He knows there isn’t much to make a meal in the fridge and he doubts Draco has any spare cash to get groceries or takeout. 

He picks up Thai food on the way home, more than he could ever eat himself, maybe Ron could, but he wants enough for the two of them and for plenty of leftovers in case he’s ever running late and Draco gets hungry. 

He’s left the front door unlocked but makes a stop to make another copy of his key for Draco to use while he stays with him. When he gets home, it’s a little after six and the apartment is empty. The guest room door is open, bed made and no signs that Draco has stayed there the night before. 

He wonders if he’s scared the other man off, knowing that he doesn’t accept help easily, perhaps Harry had offered too much? But all that he had done was nothing, just things he might do anyway… It was nothing. 

But he understands that it could be too much for someone like Draco, Ginny had been the same way, constantly needing to prove that she was capable on her own. Harry wishes there was a way to tell him that he knows Draco can make it on his own, but Harry just wants to make it easier because he  _ can _ . 

He sighs to himself and looks at the spare key in his hand for a moment. He begins to unpack his supper, putting the extra containers in the fridge for tomorrow’s dinner, and begins to eat alone at the kitchen table. Perhaps he should invite Ron over… he doesn’t want to be alone tonight. 

He pulls out his phone but changes his mind at the last second. He can get together with them over the weekend, he should get some work done anyway. He pulls out his laptop to work while he eats, and he has no sense of the amount of time he’s sitting there, but he’s startled out of his focus with a knock on the door. 

He jumps up but regrets it immediately, his stiff legs barely managing to keep his weight. He stretches his back and rolls his neck as he goes to check the door. It’s still unlocked, he’d forgotten to latch it that evening, and he opens the door to the occupier of his thoughts himself. 

“Evening, Potter,” Draco says dryly when Harry still hasn’t moved out of his way, too busy looking at this lean, blonde man who now has his hair neat and combed artfully out of his face for the most part, though a few strands fall into his eyes at times. He’s wearing some of Harry’s work clothes, but they look a hundred times better on Draco than they ever have on him, the navy shirt bringing out the blue in his eyes and making his hair look nearly silver. He truly is stunning. 

He quickly shifts to the side to allow Draco to enter the flat. He almosts asks if he’s had any luck today with the job search but then thinks better of it, instead asking, “Good day?” 

Draco hums noncommittally rather than answering, which is an answer in and of itself. 

“There’s Thai on the counter, but if you don’t like that I can go pick up something else. There’s not much to eat in the fridge,” Harry says apologetically, clearing away his work on the kitchen table from earlier. Draco eyes his laptop and arrangement of papers dubiously, his eyebrow raised, but he doesn’t voice the question. 

Good. He doesn’t know Harry well enough to give him the ‘you’re a workaholic’ speech yet. 

“You usually eat this much, Potter?” he asks, digging through the bag of Thai that’s still sitting out before rummaging through his cabinets for a plate, Harry assumes. 

“I got extra today. And this way we have leftovers,” He replies, finally going to the cabinet himself and handing Draco a plate. He notices that Draco never uses his first name, perhaps as a method of making visible their separation, that they aren’t friends and this is a temporary arrangement. Or perhaps it is simply a way of pushing Harry away. 

Draco reaches for the plate and pauses, both of their hands supporting the dish as he still hasn’t taken it from Harry. “You don’t have to do that,” he says finally, the familiar look of suspicion and unease gracing his features once more. “I’m not helpless.”

Harry knows he needs to tread carefully here. He needs to choose his words with caution, knowing that Draco will not stay here, will not accept his help if he believes Harry sees him as incapable. “I’m quite aware you’re not helpless, and that even without anyone you could get through this. I think you’re bright and careful and well spoken and I know you would get through this. I just want to try to make it easier for you.”

Draco considers his words, still holding the plate in front of him, before he gives a slight, acquiescing nod. He turns to the food and loads his plate with noodles and chicken, grabbing a pair of chopsticks. 

He seems to deliberate for a moment before taking a seat across from Harry. They eat in silence but it’s peaceful, almost domestic. 

Harry glances at the stack of papers he’s placed on the counter and marvels at the fact that eating a quiet dinner with someone is strangely… nice. He knows he  _ should _ be working, and he thinks if he were eating with anyone else, he would probably feel guilty for wasting time. 

Draco eyes the papers as well and glances at Harry’s face. Harry’s phone rings and breaks the silence and he instinctively takes it out to see who’s calling. A photo with Hermione and him smiling looks back at him and after debating for a moment, he stands. 

He gives Draco a polite smile and exits the kitchen. In the living room, he accepts the call. “Hey.” 

“Harry, hi! It’s been weeks, where have you been?” 

Harry looks around the apartment and glances to the kitchen where Draco is looking at his plate and dexterously using chopsticks. Harry idly notes that he should ask him for tips. “Uhh, here?” 

“You hardly come see us anymore, I miss you, and I know Ron does too.” Hermione’s voice on the other end sounds upset but Harry knows she’s coming more from a place of concern. 

“I’m sorry, ‘Mione, you know how busy the company keeps me, and the shelter…” he says placatingly but he knows that she sees right through him. 

“You need to take time for yourself too, Harry.” 

“I do! I love the job and what I do.” They’ve had this conversation many times before, about how he needs a work/life balance, but he’s never been that good at the life part of it. Not since Sirius died. 

“I know, but it’s not healthy to work as much as you do. Come watch football with Ron, come eat lunch with me… I know it’s been hard since you and Ginny--” 

“This isn’t about Ginny.” His voice comes out harder than he intends but he’s so tired of the looks of concern and pity his friends have given him since Ginny finally dropped his arse. 

He hears Hermione sigh on the other side of the line and he suddenly regrets his terse voice. 

“I’m sorry, ‘Mione, I know you’re just trying to help. I’ll come to games and all that… I miss you too.” He glances to the kitchen and Draco is watching him fixedly but he quickly looks away having been caught. 

“Thank you, we love you. Come see us soon.” 

“Love you too. I will.” He ends the call and sits back in his seat across from Draco, giving a small, apologetic smile. He resumes eating his supper in silence when Draco surprises him by speaking. 

“Girlfriend?” he asks, eyes as calculating as ever. 

Harry huffs a laugh and eats a large bite of rice. He shakes his head and drinks a sip of water to wash it down. He notices Draco doesn’t have anything to drink and he stands. “More like a sister. Can I get you something to drink? I have beer and water. And creamer,” he adds with a chuckle. 

“I’m alright, thanks,” Draco says, sounding surprised. Harry gets him a glass of water anyway because Mrs. Weasley has him trained well. “Thank you.” His eyes are studying Harry again, and he can feel the prickling on his neck. He looks at Harry the way Harry feels about Draco, like he’s some sort of enigma that defies all expectations, like  _ Harry’s _ the oddball. 

“You guys sound… close,” he finishes after a beat, taking a large gulp of his water. 

“Yeah, she and her husband are family. His mom took me in after, um, well she’s pretty much raised me since I was eleven.” He feels weird exposing himself this way to someone who is nearly a stranger, someone who refuses to reveal much about his own past, and Harry doesn’t share facts about his life easily. It’s why he doesn’t make friends. One of the reasons. 

He feels strangely vulnerable, but Draco is looking at him with genuine curiosity. Trying to get the spotlight off of himself, he decides to turn it around. “What about you, got any family?” 

Immediately, Harry sees the tentative openness disappear, his entire face closing off and his eyes are blank and hard once more. Harry doesn’t know how to fix it, only that he regretted the words as soon as he said them, but it’s too late. 

“I thought I did,” Draco finally bites out, bitter and cold. Without another word, he clears his dish and puts it in the dishwasher before exiting the kitchen without so much as a goodnight. 

As much as he wishes he could take it back, at least Harry now knows not to ask about Draco’s past. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter done, please please comment, they bring me so much life XD! Thanks so much for reading, next chapter should be up next week!


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning passes in similar fashion, Harry making extra coffee and setting out another muffin. He decides to leave a quick note to hopefully make up slightly for the previous night, scrawling quickly ‘good luck today’ on a post-it and putting it on the mug he’s set out for Draco. He places the spare key beside it, hoping that Draco gets the message. 

He then sets off for work, making a mental note to stop for groceries so that he can make an actual dinner once in a while now that someone else is living with him. 

… 

Harry works when he gets home, Draco still hasn’t returned, but Harry is now more confident that he will come back. His toothbrush still rests in the guest bathroom and his old clothes are in the closet. Signs that he lives here. 

He makes an easy pasta supper and is pleased to find that Draco comes back earlier than the previous day and walks in like he lives there too, rather than knocking. He inhales audibly and hums, hopefully in pleasure. Harry has never been much of a cook. 

“Hey,” Harry says, stirring the noodles in the boiling pot and he hears a mumbled greeting and then Draco making his way to his bedroom. 

He returns a moment later, clad in Harry’s pajama bottoms and a white t-shirt, and the fact that the man looks good enough to eat in formal wear and fucking pajamas is beyond Harry. 

Their dinner is soon finished and they both sit at the table, eating in the same relative quiet as before. It’s good, and Harry is frankly surprised Draco even eats with him, most likely doing it out of the bred politeness deeply instilled in the other man. 

When they both finish, Draco helps with the dishes before disappearing into his bedroom. Harry grabs his laptop and seats himself on the couch to work for a couple more hours. 

…

Each day passes similarly, Draco joining him for dinner most nights before retreating to his room almost immediately after they’ve finished. He’s distant and hesitant when speaking with Harry, and though he sometimes banters back with him, he still rarely contributes more to the conversation that nodding and polite hums here and there. 

Harry is careful not to ask questions, knowing that it is a sensitive topic that Draco would prefer not to revisit. Even still, he enjoys these quiet dinners with Draco at the kitchen table, talking about their respective days. 

“Would you hate me if I ordered pizza?” Harry asks, looking at the scarcity of the fridge which contains eggs, ketchup and other condiments, and beer. He needs to go grocery shopping again. 

“So long as it’s not something gross like olive or something,” Draco replies, not looking up from Harry’s laptop where he’s researching job opportunities. 

“Sounds good, how’s margarita pizza?” 

“Perfect,” Draco says, actually looking up and giving Harry a smile that startles him slightly. He returns it without thinking, hard to resist the breathtaking grin directed at him. 

Harry pulls out his phone to call it in. “Should be half an hour to forty-five minutes,” he says a few moments later after ending the call. 

Draco nods but doesn’t cease his typing on the computer. 

“You’ve been working for over two hours, you could use a break,” Harry says, sounding distinctly like his friends and Ginny used to when he pulled all nighters when the company was first being created. 

Draco looks up and raises an eyebrow as though he  _ knows this _ , and how could he possibly know that Harry works too much by his friends’ standards, he’s rarely even  _ with  _ Harry. But Harry just looks back at him. 

“Come watch something with me.” It’s not a request but since he doubts Draco will comply, it doesn’t really matter. 

He looks to be deliberating, looking at Harry before glancing back to the laptop, the bluish glow making his hair nearly translucent and his eyes lighter and clear. “Fine,” he says, shutting the laptop and handing it to Harry with a quiet ‘thanks’. 

He plants himself on one end of the couch, tucking his feet underneath him. Harry carefully seats himself on the other end of the couch, mindful to give Draco plenty of room. He flips on Netflix and browses through the ‘trending now’ section. 

“Anything in particular you like?” he asks, eyes straying from the screen to glance at Draco. The blonde is still fixated on the screen, seemingly in awe of the vast selection. “Do you like a particular genre of movie?” he asks after a beat. 

Draco still seems to be stuck with indecision for another moment before he finally speaks. “Scary ones?” he asks hesitantly, his own answer coming out as a question. 

Harry grins and searches for the horror section. He’s never been a huge fan of horror movies, they just aren’t believable and therefore not all that scary, but it is always fun to watch Ron hug a pillow and yelp every time something jumps out. 

He scrolls through the thousand different scary movies and when he lands on  _ Scream _ , he hesitates a moment. This has always been his favorite, the ending a surprise just about every time, even though he knows what happens now. “Oh, I love that one,” Draco says as he reads the title, suddenly boyish with excitement as he sits up in his seat. “Have you seen it? Do you want to watch it?” 

Harry tries not to laugh at how adorable he is, how he can be sexy as sin and adorable the next moment is beyond Harry, but he clicks the movie. 

…

Draco and Harry go through several movies throughout the next two weeks, when Harry isn’t working or volunteering late. Harry makes sure to give the other plenty of space, especially toward the beginning, as Draco seems like the type of person that prefers to maintain physical boundaries. 

Harry finds himself not avoiding his apartment as often, spending fewer late nights at the office, and making more trips to the grocery store. Some nights, he makes dinner for the two of them and others they order in. Harry has the money and he is a tad lazy in that regard. 

It’s eight pm when he leaves the shelter that day and despite himself, he’s a bit disappointed to be missing dinner with Draco again for the third night in a row. His past two dinners have been comprised of coffee and a granola bar; the new deal with another company has kept him busy. 

He drives home quickly, hopeful that Draco will be up for a movie or something even though it’s too late for dinner. Harry hates coming back to a silent and lonely flat. He unlocks the door quietly just in case Draco is already in bed, but to his surprise, Draco is seated at the kitchen table, eating something that smells delicious. 

“Hey,” Harry says with surprise, dropping his case and removing his shoes at the door. He takes off his coat with a heavy sigh.

“Hey yourself,” Draco says from the kitchen. 

Harry walks into his bedroom to change into more comfortable clothes, namely sweats and a t-shirt, and heads back into the kitchen. “What smells so good?” he asks, scenting the air exaggeratedly and Draco rolls his eyes but he has a small smile so Harry counts it as a win. 

“I made enchiladas,” Draco replies, taking another bite of his dinner and looking back up at him with big, grey eyes. 

“Mm,” Harry responds, digging through the fridge for a beer. He’s deliberating on what he ought to do for dinner and whether or not he actually  _ needs _ dinner, when Draco speaks again. 

“There are more in the oven,” he says quietly, almost as though in anticipation, and Harry turns around to look at him for a moment. It was just so… considerate? Draco was clearly one to keep to himself and for the most part, avoided Harry except for the occasional meal and/or movie. 

But he had never made Harry dinner. 

“You didn’t have to...” he murmurs, not removing his gaze from Draco’s eyes for another moment so that he can sense his sincerity and Draco simply looks back, clear eyes puzzled at Harry’s seriousness and he breaks their gaze first, looking back down at his own plate and shattering the tension from a moment before. 

Harry opens the oven where more smells of chicken and delicious spices await him and prepares his own supper. 

… 

“Up for  _ The Office _ ?” Harry asks as he dries the final dish. He’s insisted on doing them since Draco prepared dinner. 

Draco seems to hesitate a moment. “Sure,” he says finally, taking a seat on what Harry now thinks of as Draco’s side of the couch. 

Harry joins him a moment later, draping an arm over the back of the sofa but it’s still a good foot from where Draco sits. He turns on the show and reclines more into it, sighing silently after the long day he’s had. 

Draco appears tired as well for he pulls his feet up onto the couch in the space between them. His feet rest about half a foot away from Harry, his knees slightly bent in the clear attempt to keep them from touching Harry. He wants to say he doesn’t need to do that, to say he is welcome to use Harry as a cushion or for anything else he might need, but he doesn’t, knowing that it would crumble the fragile relationship they are forming. 

Harry laughs as Dwight once again nails Jim with a snowball and he hears the soft chuckle from the other end of the sofa as Draco joins him. A few minutes later, Dwight materializes from around the corner, startling them both and as Draco jumps slightly, he kicks Harry in the leg. 

He begins to pulls his legs back to his body with a mumbled apology but before he can think, Harry pulls his feet into his lap, resting a warm hand on a sock covered foot for half a moment. He sees in his peripheral vision Draco looking at him questioningly but he fights to continue looking at the screen. 

Eventually, Draco looks back at the show and Harry pulls a blanket from the armchair and drapes it over Draco’s legs. It’s cold. Sue him. 

This time Draco doesn’t look at him but doesn’t remove his feet and Harry doesn’t think he’s been more comfortable in his entire life. They both sit still for a bit and then Draco shifts, reclining further in his seat and pushing his feet more into Harry’s lap. Harry’s chest feels tight for an unrelated reason. 

This small display of trust and comfort makes Harry feel warm inside with the knowledge that he is finally making progress with Draco, perhaps making a real friend. It’s nice. 

Something about the mutual knowledge that the other does not have anyone else is comforting. Ron has Hermione and vice versa and they’ve been Harry’s only close friends since the split with Ginny. And they will always have each other, whether Harry is there or not, and even though he knows they care about him, it’s still a punch to the gut to know that he will never be as important to either of them as they are to each other. 

But he’s learned to live with it. 

The episode comes to a close and neither makes a move to turn Netflix off so they remain where they are as the next flashes across the screen. 

…

When Harry wakes up, it’s still dark with only the muted bluish light of the television illuminating the room in its cool haze. Draco is asleep on the other end of the couch, his legs still resting in Harry’s lap, but his head is turned away from the television and his arms rest in seemingly awkward positions. It’s endearing to see. 

He’s almost tempted to join Draco in sleep but he knows that he will wake up sore and with his neck completely fucked if he sleeps in the seated position he’s in now. He blinks blearily at the screen that reads ‘Are you still watching  _ The Office _ ?’ and fumbles for the remote. 

He carefully stands, not wanting to jostle Draco awake too suddenly. He stands next to his upper body and gently shakes his upper arm. 

“Draco,” he says softly. “Hey, come on, let’s get you to a real bed.” 

Draco blinks up at him, appearing so much younger for the brief second and he searches Harry’s gaze. He seems to find the answers and realize where he is for he gives a short nod and stands slowly. He rubs at one eye and walks with Harry down the hall. 

“G’night,” he mumbles before closing the door behind him. 

“Night, Dray.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter should be up next weekend, please please comment they make me so happy:)


	4. Chapter 4

“How was work?” Draco asks, not looking up from Harry’s laptop as he bites into a dumpling. 

Harry sighs and loosens his tie. “I hate people,” he says by way of answer and Draco chuckles. 

“That good?” he asks, finally closing the laptop to look up at Harry who is fixing himself a plate. 

“I just don’t like to be  _ that boss, _ and I don’t want to be a dick but I don’t know how to make people take things seriously. It’s like a lose-lose situation; if I’m too nice, nothing gets done. If I’m too mean, then I’m an arsehole.” He groans again and plops into the seat across Draco, shoving an entire dumpling into his mouth. 

Draco raises an eyebrow, equal parts amused an disgusted. “Just threaten to make them watch you eat, that seems like a fitting punishment for laziness,” he says dryly. It’s taken some getting used to adjusting to Draco’s sarcastic, prickly sense of humor, but he’s quick and clever and Harry can’t get enough of him. 

Harry rolls his eyes and exaggeratedly chews, showing off the smushed dumpling in his mouth and delighting in Draco’s look of disgust. 

“You’re a child,” he says without malice, eating another bite of his supper. 

Harry shrugs and gives a devilish grin, needing to look away quickly when Draco rolls his eyes but can’t fight down a smile. It’s becoming too much, the feelings building for Harry every time Draco looks at him, every time he casually props his feet in Harry’s lap, or laughs at one of his jokes. 

It’s a crush that builds with their proximity which is the most challenging factor, because it is almost impossible to avoid Draco. And truth be told, he doesn’t want to. Eating supper with him and watching movies has been some of the most fun he’s had in ages and he doesn’t know if he can let it all go yet. But he knows if his feelings get much deeper he won’t be able to maintain their friendly relationship for it will become too difficult. 

His main priority is helping Draco get back on his feet and he intends to do so, despite his unrequited feelings, despite the fact that Draco would surely turn his help down if he knew how Harry felt. 

“You okay?” Draco interrupts his thoughts, look of concern bringing Harry back to the present. 

“Yeah… yeah, sorry, zoned for a sec,” Harry replies, blinking a few times and finishing what little remains on his plate. 

Draco shrugs and puts both of their dishes in the dishwasher, putting what remains of the leftovers back into the fridge with Harry’s help. “Up for watching something tonight?” Draco asks as he bends over the dish wrack, Harry’s pants fitting nicely around his slim waist and taut arse. 

Harry blinks and looks quickly away, clearing his throat. “Yeah, if you are.” 

They sit on the couch and Draco flicks through Netflix, selecting a movie that Harry has never heard of and doesn’t pay attention to. He’s too tired to care about what’s on the screen; he wants only to relax in Draco’s company. 

Draco yawns and Harry too feels sleepy but not quite ready to call it a night. Especially when Draco lies down on the couch, resting his head in Harry’s lap. 

He sits shock-still, not knowing where to rest his arms as Draco seemingly gets more comfortable, shifting his body closer to Harry’s legs. He’s curled on his side, still watching the movie with his arms held close to his body. Harry holds still for another moment, trying not to disturb Draco with the fear that he’ll sit up at the slightest movement. Eventually, he gently drapes his arm across Draco’s ribcage, resting it on his side. 

He is hesitant, watching Draco’s face for any signs of discomfort but the man makes no change except he lets out a soft sigh when he finally does rest his arm. Draco lies there for another few minutes before one of his hands creeps up until it rests on Harry’s knee, the touch warm and gentle, but to Harry it feels like all of his nerves are focused on that singular point of his body, all his feeling coming from the heat of his hand. 

He glances down at Draco’s face, whose eyes are still watching the screen but his lids are now more hooded from exhaustion, his hair pale and silvery in the bluish light. Harry wants to touch it where he rests on his thigh, but he worries that he will shatter their fragile moment if he moves the slightest bit. 

He watches as Draco’s eyelids seemingly become heavier and heavier until they close altogether. Harry feels light, as though his chest is filled with helium, with the knowledge that Draco is comfortable enough to fall asleep in front of Harry-- on  _ top _ of Harry. Sort of. 

Too soon, the movie comes to an end and Draco still rests fast asleep with his head cushioned in Harry’s lap. 

“Draco,” he whispers, finally giving in to the urge of running his fingers through the silky locks to bring him out of his sleep. 

Draco blinks blearily up at him and huffs a sigh. “Hey,” he murmurs, and he looks so sleepy and soft that Harry can’t keep down the smile that looms. Draco blinks once more and seems to become aware of his surroundings, namely being in Harry’s lap with his hand in his hair. “Sorry, didn’t mean to fall asleep.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry replies quietly, removing his hand regretfully from the blonde locks as Draco slowly sits up. 

“Goodnight,” he says and walks to his bedroom without looking back, leaving Harry to sigh heavily and toss his head back against the couch. 

…

Harry is late the next day, having helped break up a fight back at the shelter over one of the cots nearest to the heating vent. It hadn’t been one of the worst he’d seen, but even so, his lip hurt as well as the right side of his torso. Nothing that ice and some liquor couldn’t fix. 

When he walked through the door, Draco was using the landline, seemingly on the phone with a restaurant. Upon seeing Harry, he added, “actually, give me the pad thai instead of the rice...Yup… That’s it… Alright, see you in half an hour, thank you.” 

He hung up the phone as Harry removed his coat. 

“Hey, how was your day?” he asked, watching Harry’s hands as they began to unbutton his shirt. 

“Fine,” Harry said, going to his bedroom to get comfortable. “How was yours?” he asks as he reenters the kitchen but Draco looks at him cynically instead of answering. 

“Why are you walking weirdly?” he asks, brows furrowed as he assesses him, looking Harry up and down in a more clinical way than he would like. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Harry replies, avoiding looking the other man in the eye as he’s never been a good liar and Draco seems like he would find him out in a second. He’s too observant for his own good. 

“You’re limping,” he states factually, leaving no room for argument, though Harry tries anyway. “And your lip looks swollen…” his eyebrows raise and he now gives Harry a sly grin. “Did you get fucked? Is that why you’re avoiding answering?” He pauses a moment, tilting his head as he looks at Harry. “I always took you for a top,” he says and Harry chokes on his drink. He doesn’t want to ask how he knew Harry is into men, or that he prefers to top, but he is curious. Perhaps it was a lucky guess. 

“No I did not ‘get fucked’. There was a small brawl at the shelter today, it’s nothing.” 

Draco gives him his famous ‘you’re full of shit’ look and Harry looks away. “Where did they get you?” he asks, digging around in the freezer before pulling out a frozen bag of peas. 

Harry sighs and reaches for the bag but Draco holds it beyond reach. “I’m fine, I can take care of myself.” 

“Let me see.” 

“Draco, it’s nothing, I--” 

“Let me see.” 

Harry sighs once more and reluctantly lifts his shirt, displaying his ribs which are now blue and purple, splotches of color splashed across his ribs in a gruesome display. Based on Draco’s sharp intake of breath, he agrees. 

“Jesus,” he murmurs, taking a step closer to Harry, searching his eyes for what he thinks to be permission, and at Harry’s slight nod, he closes the distance between them and gingerly pulls Harry’s shirt back down and places the cold bag over the darkest of the bruises so that the icy cold isn’t against his naked skin. 

Harry shivers but it’s not from the cold, rather from the short distance between the pair and the wish that Draco would just lean forward those extra few inches and kiss him better. But Draco just looks concerned, vulnerable and gentle even though Harry is the one exposed at the moment. 

“Sorry,” he whispers as Harry shivers again. “Here,” he says, putting Harry’s hand on the peas. “Go lie on the couch, food should be here in a bit.” 

Harry resignedly goes to follow the instructions but is much happier when Draco joins him a moment later, carefully lifting Harry’s feet and sitting to replace them on his lap. He rests his hand on Harry’s shin as they both discuss their respective days and which of them had the worse one. 

… 

Harry gets home at the normal time a few nights later but the flat is dark and seemingly empty. It makes him feel hollow and disappointed, even though he knows it’s unfair to feel this way; Draco has his own life outside of movies and dinners with Harry. Just because his entire social life at this point is Draco doesn’t mean that the other is the same way. 

He turns on the kitchen light and goes to search in the fridge for what leftovers they have when he notices a post-it note on the counter. He approaches and reads the neat writing, an elegant scrawl that can only be Draco’s. 

_ Had a long day and turned in early. Hope you had a good day. _

Harry holds the post-it for a few moments and then hesitates, considering going to check on Draco and see if he wants to talk about it. But Draco doesn’t seem the type to want to talk about things, or reveal his hardships to others for fear of appearing weak, so Harry resists the urge to knock on his door. 

They don’t know each other well enough yet, they aren’t close friends the way people who have known each other for years are, and Draco has no reason to trust Harry with intimate information or details about his life. Though Harry wishes he did. 

He decides that he’s not all that hungry after all and heads to bed as well, collapsing with a sigh as his lids shut. 

… 

It’s about one in the morning when Harry awakens, cold and clammy skin from a nightmare he already can’t remember. It’s now just vague glimpses of a face, a voice… something familiar but just out of reach. 

He knows he won’t be getting back to sleep any time soon and he can’t be in the sweaty, empty bed right now, so he resolves to make the most of this sleepless night and get some work done. 

He tiptoes past Draco’s room into the kitchen, only to find him with a lamp on in the living room reading a book on the couch, a glass of milk on the coffee table. He hears Harry enter the room and looks up, giving him a faint smile. 

He stands and begins to pour Harry a glass of milk without asking what he’s doing up. “My mother used to pour me a glass of milk when I couldn’t sleep.” He hands the glass to Harry and resumes his position on the couch. “Did you have a nightmare or can you just not sleep?” he asks after a moment. 

Harry takes a large sip of the milk and even though he’s never been much of a milk drinker, something about drinking it in the wee hours of the morning makes it taste ten times better. Or maybe it’s just that Draco gave it to him. “Nightmare. I don’t remember it at all though.” He pauses once more to take another sip. “What about you?”

Draco gives him a tired smile. “Thinking,” he says with no explanation. 

“What are you thinking about?” Harry asks, not really expecting an answer. 

Draco sighs and sets down his now empty glass. “I suppose you might as well know after all you’ve done for me.” Harry scoffs and is about to argue and tell him that he should not share if he doesn’t want to and especially not out of some sort of obligation, but Draco just holds up a hand. “It’s fine, might feel better to finally talk about it.” 

He relaxes into the couch and props his feet up next to Harry, careful not to intrude on his space but Harry pulls them into his lap after a beat. 

“My parents kicked me out. That’s why I’m on the street with no fucking clue of what I’m gonna do. They caught me with another guy and they aren’t big on shirtlifters, let me tell you. Threw me out as soon as I was dressed.” 

Harry gives Draco’s shin a squeeze, hoping the touch will communicate what he doesn’t know how to put into words. “I’m sorry,” he says, even though the words are always useless, even though anything he says right now will be useless, because he has nothing better to say. “I don’t have parents either. They died when I was very young and I don’t remember them…” he trails off, unsure of where to go from there. He’s not ready to share about Sirius, still too difficult of a topic to discuss with just about anybody. 

“That must’ve been hard, I’m sorry.” Harry shakes his head firmly, giving Draco’s leg another squeeze. 

“I’m lucky, I had other people I could rely on. You had no one.” 

Draco gives him a small smile that holds no real happiness. They sit in quiet for some time, Harry slowly finishing his milk. When he does, Draco begins to stand. “Come on, I’ll rub your hair. You could use a good night’s sleep.” 

Harry looks at him puzzled but Draco is already heading into Harry’s room so he doesn’t argue. 

“Lie down,” he says softly and Harry hastens to do so, Draco sitting next to his torso once he’s comfortable. He holds himself up on a hand propped on the other side of Harry’s body so that he’s leaning over him, his other hand running his fingers through Harry’s short, wild hair, producing such wonderful sensations that Harry had never thought possible. 

No one’s ever really touched his hair outside of Hermione attempting to fix it before giving up moments later. It’s wonderful and intimate and Harry’s eyes close instinctively and he releases a soft sigh. “Where did you learn how to do this?” he mumbles without opening his eyes. 

“My mother used to do it when I had bad dreams,” he replies quietly, fingernails gently running across his scalp in the most wonderful way. 

Harry hums and doesn’t speak again, enjoying the spectacular sensations of Draco’s touch, falling fast asleep before he can really think about it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi hope you liked it! Please please leave comments/criticism, I just love to hear your thoughts. Thanks again for reading! Next update will be up in a week :)


	5. Chapter 5

When Harry wakes up, he almost thinks it was a dream. But the carton of milk is empty from their drinking last night, and Harry can picture so vividly Draco’s fingers in his hair and he knows that he could not have dreamt something so realistically. 

He heads to work with a smile on his face and a lift in his step, whistling quietly to himself as he walks into his office.

At about noon, there’s a knock on his door and Ron steps in. “Hey, mate, you busy for lunch today?” Ron works in a building about a block away so when Harry isn’t busy they occasionally go to lunch together. 

“Nothing too pressing, sounds great,” he says, shuffling his papers together and logging out of his desktop. 

“Brilliant, ‘Mione’s been hounding me to get you to come to lunch with us since her attempts to see you were apparently for naught.” There’s a teasing glint in his voice and Harry knows that Ron isn’t bitter, simply poking fun. 

“Work’s kept me busy, you know how it is,” he says deflectively. 

“Yeah, we both know you. But we miss you, and you know she only means well.” 

“Yeah, I know,” Harry says, squeezing Ron’s shoulder as they exit his office. 

… 

Lunch is nice, easier than Harry had expected, and he finds that he’s missed the time shared with his two best friends. Maybe Hermione is on to something, maybe he is lonely but too afraid of letting them in. 

It’s hard for him to expose himself anymore; when Sirius died, he’d had Ginny whom he’d told everything to, had trusted everything with her. But losing her cost him that vulnerability, and he hadn’t yet found someone else to whom he trusted to expose himself. 

Draco brings out that side of him in small increments, much to Harry’s surprise, and perhaps after some time, he won’t feel the need to hide the weak parts of himself and put up the front he does for everyone else in his life. 

But he has grown used to keeping his vulnerabilities and insecurities to himself and that is a hard habit to break, much as Hermione is trying. She hugs him tightly when they enter the restaurant and his arms naturally wrap around her small form. She’s always been one to seem so small… before she speaks. 

“Harry,” she breathes into his chest and he suddenly feels warm and his lungs feel tight. Fuck, he’s an arsehole. 

“Hey, ‘Mione, how’s it goin’?”

“We’re fine, Ron’s been working on a new bookshelf for what, six months now?” She gives Harry a look that clearly says ‘help me with him’ and Harry chuckles. 

Ron rolls his eyes fondly and steps to the side so that she can slide into the booth first. Harry grins but hides it with the menu when Ron casually drapes an arm across her shoulders, a fond look in his eye. 

… 

“We really miss you, Harry, I wish you’d come see us more. It’s not healthy to work so much and be alone all the time…” Harry resists the urge to sigh at the same goddam speech, but he knew coming into this that it was inevitable. 

“I’m not alone though, I was going to tell you. I got a… flatmate.” Hermione raises her eyes to the slight hesitation but doesn’t comment. 

“You did? Why?” Ron asks around a bite of sandwich. 

“He’s uh, a friend of mine and he’s had a rough go of it. He’s staying with me until he gets back on his feet.” Harry takes a large gulp of water, mouth suddenly a desert with having to talk about Draco to his friends, especially Hermione with her shrewd gaze and her quick perceptibility. He knew that if anyone would, Hermione would be the first to pick up on his inappropriate attraction to the man staying with him. 

“How long has he been staying with you?” Hermione asks, eyes softer than Harry would have expected and he swallows thickly. 

“A couple months? I don’t remember exactly,” he say, glancing at Ron who surprisingly looks as intent as Hermione, and he knows that he worries about Harry too, just as much as Hermione, just not so vocally. 

“Why haven’t you introduced us yet?” Hermione continues, looking almost hurt judging by her face and Harry’s stomach clenches tightly with guilt. Of course she’s hurt, he hasn’t made much time for his friends lately and the free time he  _ does _ have is spent with Draco more often than not. 

“I don’t know…” And he can’t stand to see Hermione’s face so dejected, someone who he’s seen as a sister for nearly his entire life… “Why don’t you both come to dinner tomorrow night, you can get to know him and all that…” 

Hermione’s face warms at the thought and Ron gives him a grin. “Sounds good, mate. Just send us a time.” They all stand and head to the exit. 

“Will do,” he says, pulling Hermione into a hug and kissing her cheek. He whispers into her ear, “You know I love you both, right?” He pulls back and she nods, giving him a small smile. “I’m sorry I’ve been so… secluded lately. I’m still working through some stuff, but I’m glad I got to see you both today.” He gives her another half hug before giving Ron one as well. He’d forgotten how much he missed them. 

“See you tomorrow,” Ron says, clapping his back one more time before they each went their separate ways. 

…

The rest of the day at work is grueling, Harry staying three hours later than he had originally planned. He’s fucking sick and tired of people not caring about the planet the same way he does. All they care about is having the sleekest looking phone or tablet, nevermind the illegal labor or amount of unrenewable energy that is put into it.

He finally decides to call it quits for the night, electing to do more work back at the flat in the comfort of his own home, with supper in his belly and comfy pajamas on. And Draco sitting next to him on the couch. 

Harry has taken to working from home in the evenings more often than he did before because it is so much more enjoyable to work on his laptop with his feet propped next to or on top of Draco’s legs, or with Draco lying on a pillow next to his lap. 

Definitely a better use of his time. He opens the door and Draco has ordered Italian, one of Harry’s favorites. As if he knew Harry’d had a rough day. And perhaps he did know since he was home later than usual. 

“Hey,” he calls as Harry walks through the entrance, opening a container with delicious smelling food. “How was your day?” he asks and Harry immediately groans exaggeratedly in response. 

“I just want to exist in pajamas and eat pasta for the rest of my life,” he grumbles, moving to change quickly out of his work clothes before returning to the kitchen to grab his food. 

“That well, huh?” Draco asks teasingly, eyes innocent but a smile plays at his lips adorably. Harry turns away so Draco won’t see his too-wide grin in response. 

He puts his plate on the table across from Draco and thumps into a chair, making a face that is definitely not attractive, but it makes Draco laugh so. He takes a large bite of pasta, moaning obscenely as the delicious flavor hits his taste buds. 

Draco rolls his eyes but his cheeks are tinged pink, which is surprising as Harry never took him for someone uncomfortable with being open about sex. “No one fucking cares that those arseholes at  _ Salazar _ have been accused on  _ multiple _ accounts of using immoral labor methods in Indonesia and South America and that there’s a good chance they’re using child labor! Nobody cares that they continue to use fossil fuels and other forms of nonrenewable resources for their tech. Why doesn’t anyone care that they’re part of the fucking problem when they support businesses like that?” 

He angrily bites of a large chunk of bread, the small act of violence satisfying. Draco gives him a look of sympathy, and from anyone else it would probably feel insincere, but Draco had a way of making him feel like he was really understood. 

“May I speak candidly?” Draco asks hesitantly, peeking at Harry from beneath his lashes. 

“Of course, you never have to ask,” Harry replies immediately, wondering what he could possibly want to say that he would ask first, never one to hesitate from barbed remarks at Harry’s expense. 

“I think you’re focusing too much on advertising why yours is the morally superior tech. You could try advertising the convenience and other practical things that make  _ Merlin _ better than  _ Salazar _ because people are shitty and will choose convenience and ease over morality just about every time.” He bites delicately into another breadstick at the end of his speech as though it were nothing, while Harry stares at him with his mouth agape. 

He looks at Draco with newfound respect because no one has ever put it in that light before; he’s always striven to broadcast that his company was morally just as opposed to its competitors but he never even considered focusing more on those issues. 

Draco glances at him, raising an eyebrow curiously. “That--that’s brilliant.” 

Draco seems surprised by the words and appears taken aback, unsure of how to respond. 

“Seriously, I can’t believe I never thought about it like that before,” he says, shaking his head in wonder and Draco looks a tad overwhelmed by his compliments. “What would you suggest we focus on then?”

“Well, I haven’t been able to use your tech as much lately, but I would focus on the easier accessibility, longer battery life, more durable screens, stuff like that. Those are things that make  _ Merlin  _ superior as well, but they’re the ones that are going to get more customers. Broadcast the climate change stuff and all of that, you ought to be fucking proud of it, but also advertise the other stuff more often.” Draco finishes with a half shrug, as though what he’s just said is common knowledge and not something that could greatly help his company. 

Harry looks at him assessingly for a moment. He knows he’s a hard worker, researching and applying for jobs every day, and clearly a brilliant one at that…but he’s also someone that Harry is growing romantically attracted to and it’s dangerous to mix business with pleasure. His last relationship ended because he wanted to keep the two separate. But…  “I want to hire you.” 

Draco’s half eaten breadstick slips from his hand and lands with a splat in his tomato sauce on his plate. “Come again?”

“I want to hire you. We need people that can think outside the box and that can understand what the average person is looking for and advertise to them.” 

Draco is fixing him with the distant, skeptical look, assessing Harry’s face; it’s a look he hasn’t seen in a while as Draco has slowly warmed to him but its return makes Harry’s stomach sink. “I don’t want a job out of pity.” 

“It’s not out of pity,” Harry corrects instantly because this much he knows is true. “I genuinely think you’d be an asset if you joined. And I hope you do,” he finishes quieter, feeling strangely vulnerable putting it out in the open, almost as though the hidden feeling could become visible with those words. 

“Why are you helping me so much?” Draco whispers, eyes still suspicious and uneasy. “And don’t give me the parolee bull. Why are you helping  _ me _ ?”

Harry sighs and runs a hand through his hair. It’s not something he ever talks about, though Hermione says that he should, but it’s so much easier to just avoid it and the feelings that come with it. “You know how my parents died before I could even remember them… my godfather, Sirius, raised me since I was a boy. He was kicked out of his family like you, for similar reasons. And he was falsely accused of a crime he didn’t commit and died in a cell. And I couldn’t help him, but I can help you.” 

Draco looks at him hard for long seconds that seem to drag into minutes. Finally, he speaks. “How do you know he was innocent?” he asks flatly, grey eyes hard as slate. 

“A witness came forward and retracted her testimony, said she’d been bribed into keeping her mouth shut but couldn’t live with it anymore. Sirius was dead by the time the paperwork went through.” He pauses and looks blankly at his glass of water, watching the small drops of condensation drip slowly down the sides. “I wouldn’t hire you if I didn’t believe in you,” he adds quietly and he isn’t sure if Draco even hears him but when he glances up, the blonde is fixing him with a look that appears to be a mix of puzzlement and wonder. 

“Okay,” Draco finally says, brows still pulled together as he looks at Harry like a mystery he cannot solve. 

Harry looks up, surprised, but fixes him with a grin as soon as the word sinks in. “Great. Well, thank you so much for coming in today, we’ll be sure to give you a call--” he cuts off as Draco flicks his ear on his way to put his plate in the sink and Harry dissolves into a fit of laughter. 

“Idiot,” Draco says, his tone almost… fond. 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hope you liked it! If you did, (or didn't), please please comment! It's the best part of publishing this stuff and y'all are so sweet. Thanks again for reading and I will update in a week.


	6. Chapter 6

They decide that Draco won’t start until Monday considering they have a busy enough night tomorrow and paperwork that needs to be completed before he can start. 

Draco is up before Harry the next morning, a rare occasion but a pleasant one because it means that Harry gets to see him before work. “Morning,” Harry says, playfully ruffling Draco’s already sleep-mussed hair as he walks by. He doesn’t even think about the gesture, about the casual touch, how  _ easy _ it is to be in contact with Draco that he doesn’t even notice it at first. But he needs to be careful; if Draco knew how he felt about him, he would never accept the job, something that would surely help him get back on his feet. 

He pours himself a mug of coffee and sits across from Draco at the kitchen table, wondering at the golden look of his hair in the early morning light. He truly is stunning, softer somehow from sleep. 

“Hey, uh, Ron and Hermione are coming over tonight,” he pauses, taking a sip of his coffee and resisting the urge to sigh like his Uncle Vernon. 

“No worries, I can make myself scarce,” Draco begins but cuts off as Harry shakes his head. 

“No, uh, they’d like to meet you… So if you’re not too busy tonight, and if you want to…” He rubs the back of his neck nervously, feeling suddenly awkward at the invitation. He wants Draco to be a part of his life, much more than he ought to, but their hesitant friendship is no more than something born out of necessity; for Draco, someone to help him get back on his feet, and for Harry, someone who listens and understands without the need for so many words. 

“You want me to meet your friends?” he asks, eyes narrowed and head tilted with confusion. 

“Well, I mean, they’re important to me and you’re, er, living with me, and they wanted to meet you. You don’t have to though, obviously,” Harry adds, feeling increasingly uncomfortable with Draco’s scrutinizing gaze and the fear that something might slip out and this time, he  _ won’t  _ be able to catch himself in time. 

Draco purses his lips and seems to think for a moment, assessing where the trap is, but he finally seems to deem that there isn’t one. “Alright,” he says softly, looking up at Harry standing over him, having stood to wash his now empty mug. 

His eyes are open again, though still cautious, with his chin lifted to maintain eye contact, exposing his slim column of his throat and Harry swallows with the need to bend over and place a kiss on those waiting lips. 

Draco stands slowly, waiting to see if Harry will back up, but he stays rooted to the ground, their faces now inches apart, and Harry thinks  _ this is it _ , and Draco’s hands are reaching toward him and he wants to reciprocate but he can’t move. But Draco’s hands don’t come up to his face; his fingers instead tighten his tie, looking down before meeting Harry’s eyes once more. 

He thinks Draco’s touch lingers on his chest, but knowing him, it’s likely just wistful thinking. “Have a good Friday,” Draco breathes, still so close that Harry can hear him perfectly. 

His throat is too tight to reply so instead he nods, and Draco steps deftly around him to the sink. Harry closes his eyes and holds his breath as he tries not to feel the other man’s body brush against his own smoothly. 

… 

Hermione and Ron show up three minutes before the scheduled time, but after knowing Hermione for as long as he has, it’s actually a tad late. 

“Hey, Harry,” she says, smiling warmly as she stands on her toes to give him a hug. Ron claps him on the back as she turns to Draco who is standing awkwardly, his expression guarded and calculating. “You must be Draco, it’s so nice to meet you,” she says with a warm smile and reaching out her hand to shake. 

Draco shoots Harry a look when Ron shakes his hand firmly but not painfully. In fact they both look disgustingly overjoyed that Harry has a friend. God forbid. 

He throws Draco a shrug as they start to make their way into the apartment. Harry gives Draco’s shoulder what he hopes is a comforting squeeze but regrets it instantly when he notices Hermione watching them intrigued. Watching the way that Draco’s body leans into his touch, a touch at lingers more than it should, and Harry, too late, retracts the hand and leads them all into the kitchen. 

Draco and Harry had made an easy dinner of spaghetti and meatballs, working in sync as a team in a way that was surprisingly domestic, but wonderful. Draco had playfully shoved him out of the way a few times and Harry could do nothing but laugh. 

They had exchanged barbed insults and teasing jabs in a way that almost resembled flirting, or it would if Harry wasn’t entirely certain that he simply couldn’t do relationships again, not after Ginny. He couldn’t choose a significant other over his work, that wasn’t the way he operated. But it didn’t matter because he was thinking too far into the fantasy of his own creation, one in which Draco actually returned his feelings and wasn’t spending time with him out of pure necessity. 

“So what do you do, Hermione?” Draco asks politely, the question coming out sounding almost genuine but Harry knows Draco well enough by now to recognize the tone that comes when he’s putting up the front for others, the one he’s been raised to have always. The one that has started coming down more and more often around Harry. 

It’s a well rehearsed act and undetectable to a stranger. “I work for  _ The Times _ , I was a journalist for several years, but I’m now editor in chief,” she says with a polite smile, taking a sip of wine. 

Draco nods and they begin to ask the usual list of questions, ‘how long have the two of you been together’ which Hermione follows with ‘how long have you lived with Harry?’ He notices that Hermione and Ron are careful to stay away from such topics as Draco’s family and history which Harry greatly appreciates, having briefed them prior to their arrival. 

“We keep trying to make this one come and see us,” she says, gesturing to Harry mock-annoyed, “but you probably know how he is about work by now.” She winks at Harry and he returns with an exaggerated eye-roll. 

“Yes, the same happened with me, I haven’t seen him for about two months until this evening,” Draco jokes and his face looks sincere and innocent that Harry has to bite down laughter. Instead, he rebuts with faux outrage. 

“You both are awful, you complain about me when I’m here, you complain about me when I’m not,” he laments dramatically, shaking his head and Ron barks a laugh. 

“Don’t listen to ‘em, there’s only so much I can look at a mug like that,” he says and Harry scoffs in surprise. 

“All of you. Every single one of you. Awful,” Harry says, shaking his head with a hurt expression as he takes another sip of wine. 

Draco reaches over and grasps his chin, turning his face in a way that almost reminds him of Mrs. Weasley. “Aw, your face is… average,” Draco says after an exaggerated pause, grinning devilishly as Harry smacks his hand down. 

“Alright, alright,” Hermione says as the laughter dies down. Draco puts his hand on Harry’s knee, giving him a tender squeeze beneath the table, invisible to their guests. Harry can’t hide the soft smile so he looks down at his plate, glancing over to catch Draco looking at him, the same fond look in his eyes. He quickly drops his gaze when Harry meets it but he’s already seen. 

“Well why don’t Harry and I clean up and we’ll meet you both in the living room in a few,” Hermione suggests in a not-so-covert way to talk to Harry. He resists the urge to sigh and almost feels bad when Draco shoots him a panicked look that clearly says, ‘please don’t leave me alone with him’. 

Eh, at least he’s not getting another lecture from Hermione. Ron and Draco head into the sitting room and Harry distantly hears, “Come on. Tell me the crap Harry’s been making you watch.” Yeah, Draco will be fine. 

He begins washing a dish when Hermione sidles up next to him, drying towel in hand. “So,” she starts and Harry mentally groans. “Why didn’t you tell us the two of you were romantically involved?” 

Harry drops the dish with a clang into the sink and thanks his lucky stars it doesn’t break. But what the fuck, Hermione? “He doesn’t, we’re not--” he takes a breath and then turns to look at her. “We’re just friends,” he says resolutely, turning back to continue washing the dish he’d dropped. 

“Are you sure?” she asks quietly, gently in a way that is always surprising to Harry, even though she has shown her softer, caring side to him regularly. 

“‘Course I’m sure, I would know, wouldn’t I?” he asks, not looking up to meet her piercing gaze. 

“I just… see the way you look at him,” she says, taking the plate and beginning to dry it. 

“I don’t look at him like anything,” he says firmly. “He’s just a friend that I’m trying to help get back on his feet.” He glances at Hermione who is fixing him with a look that clearly isn’t buying what he’s selling. 

“Have you tried talking to him about it?” she asks softly, motherly concern seeping into her voice once more. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, I don’t feel that way about him, and even if I… he wouldn’t…” He trails off, not knowing how to finish that sentence, especially since Hermione so clearly sees right through him. 

She sighs and they continue doing the dishes in silence for a minute, listening to the chatter between Ron and Draco coming from the other room. He hands her the last plate and soon they stand at the edge of the sitting room, Harry pausing at the entrance as he watches the ease with which Draco seems to fit with his friends, with his  _ life _ .

Draco catches sight of him and gives him a breathtaking smile before turning back to Ron as Hermione materializes at Harry’s side. “I see the way he looks at you, too,” she murmurs and Harry sighs. 

… 

Draco unsurprisingly rises quickly in the company. Harry rarely oversees promotions and things of the like so he’s relieved to know that Draco’s success has little to do with him and very much to do with his own brilliance. 

He explains it all to Draco when he confronts him about this, angry and hurt, believing that this is all a display of pity or some sick way of making up for Sirius, not that Draco simply has the talent and the brain to be a valuable asset to the company. 

“Draco,” Harry says, grasping one of his hands, his eyes pleading him to believe what he’s saying, “I promise you, the extent of my involvement in your employment ended after getting you an interview with Janine.  _ She _ is the one who did the final steps in hiring you and she is the one who has been overseeing your work. I wish you would believe me when I say your success is not coming from some… sick sense of pity or something.” 

He squeezes Draco’s hand and looks at him earnestly, and Draco’s brows are still pulled together in the middle like he  _ wants _ to believe Harry but is finding it difficult. 

“Look, I do like to help you because you’re my friend, but I don’t  _ give _ jobs away to friends. Or the subjects of my pity… You have this position because you  _ earned _ it.” 

Draco looks down for a moment before glancing back up, his eyes slightly wetter than before, and it makes Harry’s heart clench. “Thank you,” he whispers, and out of all the times he’s heard those words from Draco and wanted to deny them, to refuse them because he doesn’t deserve the amount of gratitude Draco gives. 

But this time is different. This time he gives a small smile and squeezes Draco’s hand before leaving the room because it hurts too much to restrain himself from pulling the other man into his arms. 

…

“Hermione wants us to come to Ron’s surprise party this Saturday,” Harry says, enjoying the lazy Sunday they are having, sitting together on the couch with Draco’s feet in Harry’s lap as he reads the paper and Harry checks his emails. 

Draco rests the newspaper on his torso and sits up, pulling his feet regretfully away from Harry. “Us?” is all he asks, eyes unsure. 

“Specifically says the both of us. I can just tell ‘em you’re sick or something if you want…” he begins and Draco worries his lower lip and  _ fuck _ , Harry wants to bite that lip. “But… I would like it if you came. To the party,” he adds quickly and in hindsight, he shouldn’t have corrected himself. 

But Draco doesn’t seem to have noticed because he’s looking at Harry in that way again where he appears to be trying to figure him out, like Harry is some unsolvable enigma or something. “You would?” he asks, and he sounds so small for that brief moment, vulnerability shining through when his walls are almost always up, Harry’s chest feels insanely tight. 

“You’re a friend, Dray. I hope you know that,” he says softly, giving Draco’s still extended ankle a slight squeeze. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I'm awful and totally forgot to update last weekend, much yike, I'm really sorry. Next chapter will be up soon

If Harry’s honest with himself, (which he rarely is so this is progress), he’s dreading the party. He hasn’t been in the same room with Ginny for over a year, avoiding large Weasley get togethers. He just isn’t ready to face her yet.

But, ready or not, he’s going to have to because it’s Ron’s birthday and he’s going to have to deal with it. It’s not that they ended things badly; rather, it was a fairly amicable split compared to some. There was not outrageous fight that involved throwing objects and shouted insults. It was just a packed suitcase and a resigned voice before she left him. 

He hadn’t chased her, hadn’t tried to stop her; he knew that he was only preventing her happiness in doing so and she deserved to find someone who truly made her happy, who had the time for her and would put her above work and everything else. 

But seeing her was too much of a reminder of what could have been, a dream of another life with her. A life that centered around love in an apartment where he didn’t return alone every night. 

She had given him a chance, too. So many chances. To apologize, to change… but Harry couldn’t do that. Not for her at least. Not in the same ways that these past couple months had with Draco. It wasn’t fair to compare the two, he knew, especially when Draco was nothing more than a platonic friend, but in the short time he’d known him, Draco understood better than Ginny ever could the importance of Harry’s job and the fulfilment his work brought him, while at the same time communicating the importance of taking time for himself. 

He was able to bring Harry out of himself in a way no one ever had, making him  _ want _ to take evenings off to eat a relaxing dinner, to watch more Netflix… 

… 

Ron is pleasantly surprised by the party, as expected. The initial shout had involved a lot of cursing and strange martial arts? Flailing. That was a better word for it. 

But after the yelled ‘surprise!’, he had laughed and hugged Hermione, who looked very pleased indeed. 

Draco sticks by his side for much of the beginning, each of them making small talk with Luna and Neville, both of whom Harry hadn’t seen in months. They catch up and introduce themselves to Draco, and in the middle of that conversation, Hermione comes and whisks Draco away with some rush of words that Harry has no hope of understanding. 

Luna and Neville eventually go to get food and Harry cranes his neck to see where Hermione has taken his flat mate, but a touch on his forearm brings him back to the present. 

“Harry,” Ginny says, eyes tracing his face and scanning him up and down, her hand retracting after a moment. 

“Hey, Gin,” Harry gets out, suddenly very uncomfortable, even though he  _ knew _ this was coming, but he had hoped he wouldn’t be left alone with her. He had hoped that having someone as a buffer would prevent the conversation he knew she would try to have. 

But no one was near enough to pull into the conversation and he had his back to the wall so there was little chance of escape. “How are you?” she asks, eyes genuinely concerned and a little sad, the way they always looked at Harry during the last weeks of their relationship. 

“I’m doing well, thanks. How about you?” he asks politely, eyeing behind her in the hopes of spotting someone and catching their attention. 

“I want to give us another go,” she says instead of answering, her words bringing his eyes back to hers immediately. They’ve had this conversation,three times now, and Harry can’t do it again. 

“Gin… Ginny,” he corrects after a beat. 

“No, listen. Please. We’ve both changed since things ended, ‘Mione says that you’re spending more time with them again, that you’ve been focusing more on relationships now and… And I’ve grown too. I understand what your job means to you and I’m willing to accept that I’ll almost always come second. All I ask is that I be a close second, that you take the time--” 

But Harry’s already shaking his head. “I can’t, Ginny. I’m sorry, I don’t feel that way about you anymore, I--” 

Ginny cuts him off, her voice growing slightly louder and Harry winces, hoping that the other party guests aren’t paying them too much attention. “How can you say that? We were together for a year, and close friends long before that… I still care about you, and I know you do for me too.” 

“I care about you, but--”

“Then I don’t understand why you won’t at least  _ try _ to make this work. For me. For us.” 

Harry sighs, running a hand over his face. He opens his mouth to respond but feels a warm body at his side suddenly. He turns and Draco hands him a drink with a small, reassuring smile, and Harry’s body instantly relaxes with his comforting presence. “Hey,” he whispers, just audibly for Harry to hear, before turning to Ginny. “Draco,” he says by way of introduction, his voice cool and calculating. 

“Ginny,” she replies curtly, briefly shaking his hand. She then turns to address Harry. “Give me a call if you change your mind.” 

When her back is completely turned, Harry finally gives in to the urge to roll his eyes. Draco arches a blonde brow and Harry shakes his head. “Ex.” He doesn’t provide further context. 

To his relief, Draco doesn’t ask for it, just hums in sympathy. “Ah. You’re going to need something stronger, then,” he says, taking Harry’s hand and leading him to the bar. 

… 

The rest of the party passes by uneventfully, Draco not leaving his side again. It’s nice to see his friends again and to get to introduce them to Draco as well. Eventually, the say goodbye and head home. 

Harry had taken Draco up on the suggestion for something stronger and is feeling a tad tipsy as they walk the couple blocks back to the apartment. He stumbles for half a moment and feels a long arm wrapping around his waist to steady him. The arm retracts once Harry is standing well again, but he keeps a hand outstretched should he fall. 

It makes Harry feel warm, knowing that Draco is here, that he’s walking home with him, and Harry briefly entertains the fantasy that they don’t live together, that Draco is coming home because he wants to, wants to be with Harry, to touch and kiss him the way that Harry wants to.  

He wraps his arm around Draco’s shoulders under the guise of helping him maintain his balance, but truthfully it’s more because he wants to hold him close in the only way he’s allowed. Draco steps nearer willingly, lets Harry lean on him slightly as they make their way back to the flat. 

He stops at the door to Harry’s bedroom and it’s a real struggle for his intoxicated brain to remember why he  _ definitely _ should not pull Draco into his bed with him. He somehow manages to resist. 

“Goodnight, Dray,” he murmurs, giving Draco’s hand a brief squeeze. “Thanks for saving me earlier. And for coming,” he adds, wanting to express how much he truly appreciated Draco taking the time to know his friends without giving away how much his presence really means to Harry. 

“Anytime, Harry,” Draco says and turns and walks across the hall to his own bedroom. 

… 

Draco’s been working for  _ Merlin _ for about three months now, steadily rising until becoming the head of advertising for the company, and his change has shown almost immediately. Sales increased with the new approach to advertising and Harry is thrilled that someone so brilliant works with him. And lives with him. But that’s a separate issue. 

Now that Draco is making his own wages, Harry nervously awaits the day that he will finally decide to leave now that he doesn’t need Harry anymore. It fills him with dread and longing and loss, but he knows that to his core he wants what’s best for Draco, and if,  _ when _ he inevitably decides to move out, Harry will support his decision. 

For now, he’s trying to enjoy every moment he has with him, knowing that their friendship will most likely end, or at the very least, become a hell of a lot more difficult, once Draco’s gone. He finds himself taking more evenings off, asking to spend weekend days with Draco to hang out, pick up groceries, or things of the like. To his satisfaction, Draco always says yes. 

He had tried to start paying Harry rent, claiming that he could now afford it and wanted to start paying Harry back however he could, but Harry had adamantly refused, explaining that he could afford this place and had enjoyed having a flatmate, the apartment was too big and too lonely before Draco came. 

“I need to go shopping,” Draco proclaims one Saturday morning as he seats himself across the kitchen table from Harry, coffee mug in hand. 

Harry raises an eyebrow at the sudden declaration. “What do you need?” he asks, closing his laptop to look at Draco. 

“I need my own work clothes. Much as I  _ love _ borrowing yours, you have a terrible sense of fashion.” He raises his nose primly in the air and Harry shakes his head, granting a small smile but can’t help the small tendrils of loss wrap around him. He’s quite enjoyed seeing Draco in his own clothing, even though he knows its  _ long _ time for him to get his own. Even if it does feed the small, greedy, possessive part of him deep in the trenches of his subconscious. 

But it’s ridiculous that he hasn’t bought Draco his own clothes, he’s just had plenty to share thanks largely to Ginny and Hermione. 

Draco’s face grows serious, concern seeping into his eyes. “Hey, I’m just joking, you have no idea how much I appreciate how much you’ve done for me.” 

Fuck. He’s misunderstood. “No, no, I just can’t believe I haven’t gotten you your own clothes yet, I feel like an arse for not even thinking about it.” 

Draco shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “You’re an idiot, and kind to a fault. You have no  _ idea _ what you’ve done for me, especially knowing that there is no way I will ever be able to repay you.” 

Harry feels his cheeks heat with the praise and he looks down, never one to really know how to accept compliments. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to repay me,” he begins finally, looking down at the table because it’s too hard to meet Draco’s eyes right now. “I know it’s not the same for you, but to me, this isn’t a business transaction or anything… you’re my friend and I like helping you and making things easier however I can…” He trails off, not knowing how quite to explain himself but his words aren’t sufficient in expressing his thoughts. 

Draco purses his lips and mumbles something that sounds like ‘hero complex’, but Harry can’t be certain. 

…

“Ugh, this one’s too big as well? What is it with this store and sizing?” Draco grumbles from the other side of a curtain in the changing room. 

“Want me to go grab one of the size down?” Harry asks. 

“If you don’t mind,” Draco says and the curtain rips open and Harry is face to face with a very shirtless Draco Malfoy, all lean and toned and beautiful. Harry wants to spread him on his bed and devore that man. 

He wrenches his eyes away from Draco’s torso to meet his gaze and finds the blonde looking at him speculatively in that way that he has where he looks at Harry like a puzzle. Draco hands him the shirt and Harry quickly sets off to go find another that’s the correct size. 

…

They eventually leave the store with several shirts and dress pants, and Harry can’t help but notice he doesn’t buy pajamas, can’t help the incessant wish that perhaps it’s because he likes Harry’s sweats and doesn’t want any others. 

They pass a kiosk with several different types of glasses, and Draco pulls off a pair with circular lenses that resemble Harry’s, and Harry can’t help but chuckle as he pulls them down slightly to look over them seductively. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Harry says on a laugh, wrapping an arm around his shoulders in a way that he hopes comes off as friendly as Draco puts away the glasses. 

… 

Draco has been using the landline for the time that he’s been employed for when he needs to take calls for work, but Harry doesn’t like that Draco is tethered to the apartment if he wants to do work and has to worry about receiving an important call when he isn’t home. And Harry wants to be able to reach him when neither of them are at the apartment or work. 

Especially since Harry is the head of a company that sells phones and has loads of older models used for studying and innovation for updating and experimenting with the new ones. 

So Harry brings home Draco an older prototype, one that he’s checked isn’t being used anymore. “Just so you don’t have to take all of your calls here if you don’t want to,” Harry says when he tries to hand him the phone. 

Draco just stares at it, not making any move to take the it from Harry, and he doesn’t know whether to drop his hand or continue holding it out awkwardly. “This is too much,” Draco says, and not in the way that one does when accepting a gift but trying not to come off ungrateful, Draco means every word and Harry can tell. 

“It’s really not a big deal, just an older prototype...” he begins but Draco is shaking his head so Harry finally drops his hand. “You don’t have to if you don’t want, I just thought--” 

“Why do you help me so much?” Draco asks flatly, his voice completely devoid of emotion as the blank mask resumes its place on his face. 

“What do you mean, I’ve told you--” 

“No, there’s trying to make up for the injustice that happened to your godfather, and then, on an entirely different level, is where you are.” He pauses, shaking his head in bewilderment and exasperation. “Why are you such a fucking hero? Why do you  _ need _ to help me so much, I--” 

But then Harry is kissing him, his hands cupping Draco’s face as his lips press against his. He hasn’t thought this through and is half a second from pulling back as Draco remains completely frozen, but then, blissfully, wonderfully, Draco’s lips begin to move against his own. Sparks of electricity shoot through Harry’s body as the entire world focuses on this one, singular moment, one beautiful feeling that all is right. 

It lasts maybe a second total, his heart finally whole before it’s shattered once more as Draco shoves him hard on the chest, taking a step back. “Is that what this is to you, playing with my life, getting me off the streets just to get in my pants?” And he looks so hurt, so  _ angry _ , and Harry takes a half step towards him, because no,  _ no _ , that is the furthest thing from the truth, but Draco counters with a step back. 

“No, no, I feel--” But Draco is shaking his head, his expression a mix of pain and anger, and he hurries to his room before dropping something on the kitchen table and running out the front door, leaving Harry to call futilly after him. 

He looks at what he’s left and lifts it up to see it’s an envelope of cash labeled ‘rent’ on the side. Inside it is also his key to the apartment and Harry knows he’s not coming back. 

“Fuck!” he yells, throwing the envelope onto the kitchen table and pulling hard at his hair. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey please please let me know what you thought of the chapter, again I'm sorry I fell behind updating. Thanks for all the kudos and comments, they make my day.


	8. Chapter 8

Harry doesn’t leave the house for the next week. He doesn’t go to work, just claims he’s taking the week off for personal reasons. He doesn’t return Hermione’s calls, can’t bare to leave the bedroom other than for a meal once every other day and the restroom. The apartment is too full of Draco, his stuff untouched in what was previously his bedroom. He hasn’t taken anything but a few dress clothes from what he can tell, probably what he could grab as quickly as possible. 

Harry looks at his cellphone but changes his mind at the last moment before calling Hermione. He know she’d be almost as disappointed in him as he is with himself. He’s ruined Draco’s trust and the friendship that they built by not being able to keep his fucking feelings to himself. 

He’d called the office in the vain hope to speak with Draco, to beg him to meet so that he could just  _ explain _ , but his assistant had informed him that Draco had quit four days ago, not even giving a two weeks notice.

Harry sighs and decides that this calls for another drink. 

… 

Something that sounds like banging wakes him up. “Fuck,” Harry moans, the world shifting as he tries to sit up from lying down on the couch. His head is pounding to the beat of his pulse, but there’s another rapping that he hears as well. 

Whatever it is, the sound needs to stop. “Go away,” he grumbles to the noise, but in response, it only gets louder. He groans and tries to stand up, and this time, he somehow succeeds. 

He makes his way reluctantly to where the noise is louder and opens the door to a very angry looking Hermione with a more frightened looking Ron behind her. Her expression changes as soon as soon as she takes in Harry’s appearance, he’s a wreck no doubt as he hasn’t showered or shaven in a week. 

“God,” she murmurs, looking him from top to bottom. 

He squints at her, the light streaming from the hallway blinding at the moment. “You coming in or what?” he bites out. He’s having a hard enough time standing and if he’s going to receive a lecture he might as well do it lying down. 

They each step around him into the empty apartment and Harry resumes his position on the couch reclined. Hermione opens her mouth and Harry groans again in preparation for what is likely a hundred different questions but Ron stops her with a hand. “You want to talk about it?” he asks, and it’s so quiet and gentle, and heartfelt in the way only Ron is always able to achieve that the tears return without Harry’s permission. 

He starts to shake his head, throat constricting painfully, but the words come without his permission. “God, I just… I fucked up,” he manages to get out, and arm swung across his face, partially to block the light in the room and partially so that they can’t see him. 

He feels someone sit next to his feet while the other sits on the floor, leaning against the couch. A large hand gives his shin a squeeze. Ron then. Ron hums in response, a noise that both awaits further explanation but also doesn’t demand it. Harry provides it anyway. 

“I kissed Draco,” he whispers and Hermione makes a small noise like it all makes sense now. “And he left because he thought I was helping him just because I wanted to fuck him.” 

It’s quiet for a moment and after a beat, Hermione makes another noise of sympathy and takes his free hand giving it a squeeze. “I’m sorry he thought that. And I’m sorry you’re hurting because of it.” 

Harry sighs but doesn’t say anything, just shakes his head from beneath his arm. He doesn’t deserve their sympathy; he’s the one that made a move on a man that wanted little to do with him more than a forced friendship. Harry now knows that what he had thought was their relationship was Draco spending time with him out of some warped feeling of guilt, or debt. 

Ron gives his leg another comforting squeeze and the unknowing gesture brings back a tidal wave of memories of Draco’s feet on his lap or vice versa. He swallows thickly. “Look, if he doesn’t know you well enough to think you would do something like that, then he’s probably not the right one for you,” Ron says finally, and Harry’s heart sinks because no, he’s not the right one for  _ Draco _ , he has it all wrong. But he doesn’t argue. 

… 

Harry goes back to work the following week because he’s tired of moping and his friends coming or calling to check on him everyday. Plus, he could use a distraction from an empty apartment that seems to be filled with Draco’s presence. 

He starts spending more time at work and at the shelter, closing in on himself and off from the world, putting his mind to other people so that he doesn’t have to focus on himself. It worked with Ginny, whom he was with for over a year, so it should be the same with Draco who had only lived with him for a few months. 

He doesn’t eat at home, usually grabbing something or making it in the kitchen at the office so that he doesn’t have to be blinded by memories of them cooking together, of laughter and music playing in the background as Draco teases him for his shitty pouring skills. 

Hermione tells him that he’s started working for advertising for some other tech company, not  _ Salazar, _ but still. Harry doesn’t make any effort to find him or to reach out, doesn’t ask how Hermione found this out; she is a journalist after all. But he gives Draco his space as he so clearly wants and makes his best effort to forget the impact he’s had on Harry’s life. 

So Harry pours himself into his work, attending meeting after meeting, dinner after dinner, with potential contractors and sponsors, members of his team with new ideas. He even goes to the Christmas party where all the higher ups of tech companies get together to celebrate the holidays. It’s a horrid affair and Harry despises having to dress up and make small talk with a bunch of random, pompous people. But it’s better than sitting alone at home. 

He drinks the overly expensive champagne and makes small talk with Brian who has always been a little more friendly than was comfortable, but tonight Harry really doesn’t care. He’s nodding mildly, gazing around the room when platinum blonde hair catches his eye. The man has his back to Harry but he would recognize him anywhere. 

Draco is wearing a nice suit with a deep purple shirt that makes his hair look even lighter. Fuck he’s still gorgeous, even from behind. He and the man Draco is talking to make their way to a table and Harry watches with morbid fascination as the man places a hand on Draco’s arm, giving him a warm smile. 

Draco smiles back, politely, Harry wants to believe, but he truly doesn’t know. He watches for a few more moments as Draco tells a story of some sort, illustrating with his hands in a way that makes Harry’s throat close. 

He excuses himself to Brian and makes his way out into the hallway in search of a restroom. It’s dark and private at the end of this hallway and Harry leans against the cool wall, wanting to sob, scream, and collapse all at the same time. Instead he counts his breaths and waits until he doesn’t feel like his chest is eating him from within. 

“You’ve seen better days, Potter,” a voice says a few steps away. 

Fuck, it’s been so long since he’s heard that voice. He wants to turn, to reach out and pull Draco to him, but he’s suddenly filled with anger laced with hurt, that Draco didn’t believe him. That Draco left without even hearing him explain. “They haven’t been as good as yours, it seems,” he responds bitterly, finally turning to face Draco as the other man sighs. 

Draco opens his mouth to say something but Harry holds up his hand and shakes his head. “I--”

“No. Fuck you, Draco. Fuck you for thinking what I felt for you wasn’t real. I didn’t hire you out of pity or… attraction,” he spits out, the word ash in his mouth. “Work was  _ always _ something separate... But what I felt--that was real, and fuck you for thinking otherwise.” 

He strides past Draco who is looking at him with confused surprise but Harry doesn’t stick around long enough to inquire further. He reenters the main room and walks back to Brian, who gives him a wide smile. He knows what Brian is after, knows it’s not a relationship, and fuck, Harry needs to get laid. Needs to forget what he almost had.

He downs what remains in his glass and fills another; he’s going to need it to carry on with the rest of the night. Brian seems delighted that Harry is finally flirting back, nothing crazy, just a few well placed smiles. But he really does need to use the restroom, he’d forgotten because of his interaction with Draco, so he goes back into the hall. 

When he has finished his business, he walks down the dark corridor back to the party, when he’s suddenly being pressed against the wall, narrow hips pressed against his own, and he barely has time to distinguish that this is  _ Draco _ , that  _ Draco _ is now pressing him against the wall, before he’s suddenly being kissed.  _ Hard _ . 

Draco’s mouth moves desperately, almost harshly, as though begging Harry for more while at the same time daring him to stop. Fingers tug sharply at Harry’s belt loops, drawing him impossibly closer as a hand explores his chest and wanders up to his jaw. 

Harry returns the kiss enthusiastically, not caring what this is for Draco, what this means, not allowing any of those thoughts to enter his head other than  _ Draco Draco Draco _ and the feeling of his lips pressed hard against Harry’s own. If this is only a one night stand, then he sure as hell is going to make the most of it.

Draco pulls back momentarily, searching Harry’s eyes for  _ something _ , Harry doesn’t know what. “What are you doing to me?” he asks quietly, but before Harry even has the opportunity to consider the question, Draco is diving back in, kissing him firmly. 

For the first second, Draco is dominating, licking the seam of Harry’s lips, and he opens readily. Draco’s tongue enters his mouth silkily, tasting of champagne and something that Harry knows is just Draco, and Harry pushes back eagerly. 

His hands are everywhere, exploring Draco’s lean body and pulling him impossibly closer when he suddenly reverses the positions, pressing Draco up against the wall and grinding forward so that he  _ feels _ what he’s doing to Harry. Draco gasps into his mouth and Harry can feel Draco’s erection twitch against his own. 

Fuck. They need to move this to a bed, especially since this is most likely the only chance he’ll get to spread Draco out, uncover smooth and perfect skin and see everything. He wants to see every expression his face makes, the way his eyes close and his brows draw up, and he’ll arch as Harry sucks him off until he comes around his fingers. He wants to take his time to slowly build Draco up and tip him over the edge over and over until he’s begging Harry to fuck him. 

Harry rolls his hips and swallows the needy whine Draco lets out, and Harry knows that they need to stop soon because he is too hard and too desperate, and if they keep this up, he’s going to come. Draco pushes him back a bit, both of them panting in the thick air between them. “I want you to fuck me,” he says before pulling Harry back to him and kissing him once more. “My place or yours,” he adds against Harry’s lips, not bothering to separate fully this time. 

His place. Of course Draco had a place. He had to live somewhere, and now that he could afford his own… But Harry doesn’t want to see Draco’s place. Doesn’t want to see the life he’s made away from Harry…  _ without _ Harry. 

“Mine,” he says finally when Draco moves back to let him answer. “I need to go tell Brian something, though,” Harry says, suddenly remembering and feeling like a complete arse, even though he hadn’t meant to lead him on. 

Draco’s face grows harder and colder, when just a moment before it had been so open and full of heat. The loss plays at Harry’s heartstrings. “Are you seeing him?” he asks, his voice cold, but underneath lies a vulnerability and hurt that makes Harry second guess for a brief moment what this is. 

“No,” he answers quickly, assuredly, giving Draco’s hands a soft squeeze. “But I needed someone tonight.” Draco’s face falls once more and it breaks him. “To forget you,” he adds, grasping his chin in his fingers to bring Draco’s gaze to his own so that there is no misunderstanding of what this is, for Harry at least, whether or not Draco is looking for something more. 

Draco gives a slight nod, his lips still pursed, his eyes assessing, so Harry pulls him in for another kiss. Unlike their hurried snogging filled with tongues and nipping teeth, this one is slow and sweet, Harry trying to put in all of the hurt and loss he’s felt over the past weeks. 

When Harry pulls back again, Draco’s cheeks are pink and his expression is softer. “I’ll be out in less than thirty seconds,” he says, pulling Draco to kiss his forehead as he wraps an arm around him, because he can do that. At least for right now, he’s allowed to. 

He hurries back to the party to tell Brian that he’s eaten something bad before heading back out to join Draco, who is standing, looking so vulnerable for one brief, soft second before his face smooths out and he gives a small smile to Harry. They walk out and Harry relishes the warmth of Draco walking close by his side, so he wraps an arm around his shoulders to pull him even closer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some closure for all of y'all :) stay tuned for the smut ;P


	9. Chapter 9

Harry drives back with his hand on Draco’s knee for the duration of the ride home and smiles to himself when the other man begins drawing abstract patterns on the back of his hand and playing with his fingers. It’s more intimate than Harry would have ever thought, and he almost regrets getting back to the flat so soon. But he knows that the evening to come will be even better. 

Draco hesitantly follows Harry up the stairs to what used to be their flat, trailing slightly behind as though he doesn’t quite know the way, as though he hadn’t lived there for months. 

It squeezes Harry’s chest, the time lost, what they’d had vanishing when Draco did… Draco hesitates in the entryway as Harry enters the kitchen, pulling out two beers. “Drink?” he asks over his shoulder, but when he turns, Draco is standing and staring at the counter. The counter where the envelope of money still sits, untouched for weeks. 

“Why do you still…” he trails off, and even though Harry doesn’t hear the end of the question aloud, it still brings on a rush of pain and grief as the memory of the day Draco left crashes through him. 

Harry uncaps his beer and takes a large sip, not turning around to say, “In case you ever came back.” He takes another swig and fuck, maybe this was a mistake because it’s bringing back so many memories and feelings that he’s long since bottled up, and he doesn’t know if he can go through the pain of losing Draco again. 

Warm arms wrap around his torso from behind and Harry feels Draco’s head resting between his shoulder blades. “I’m sorry,” Draco says softly, and Harry turns in the embrace and pulls Draco properly into his arms, pressing his nose into the silky, fine hair. He doesn’t know how long they stand there like that, Draco’s face pressed into Harry’s shoulder with their arms holding the other tightly, as though afraid at any moment, they might slip away. 

Harry presses another kiss to Draco’s temple and feels him nuzzle further into his neck, his arms tightening around Harry briefly. “This is more than just sex for you… isn’t it.” The words frame a question but Harry can tell Draco already knows the answer. 

“Yeah,” he breathes out, relieved that everything is  _ finally _ out in the open. “But it’s okay if that’s all this is to you… I want whatever part of you I can get,” he murmurs against Draco’s hair. 

Draco looks up and places a slow, sweet kiss against Harry’s lips, cupping his face gently in his hands. The kiss slowly deepens, and when Harry’s tongue slides into Draco’s mouth, and a sigh of what sounds like relief escapes him. It progresses unhurriedly, naturally, no longer the desperate snogging from before with grinding hips and tugging hands. They slowly make their way into Harry’s bedroom, clothes coming off as they progress. 

When Draco’s chest is bare, Harry pushes him onto the bed, breaking the kiss so that he can  _ finally _ explore miles of smooth skin with his hands. Draco is warm, panting and flushed, his chest tinged pink with the heat of the moment and a prominent erection tenting his trousers. 

Harry strips himself of his own shirt under Draco’s heated gaze, feeling warm and exposed in the electric air between them. He then joins Draco on the bed, spreading his legs to occupy the space between them. He feels up Draco’s lean but toned abs, palms loving the feel of the warm skin beneath his fingertips, and he toys with pebbled nipples, hard under his touch, and Draco arches and gasps at the sensation. 

Hands grip Harry’s shoulders as he lazily draws one into his mouth, licking with his tongue before giving him a gentle suck while Draco whines and writhes beneath him. He places a gentle kiss to the center of Draco’s chest before moving up further, placing careful kisses trailing up from his collarbone to his throat, pausing to suck at a spot just beneath Draco’s ear. 

Draco’s hands tighten at the sensation, letting out a murmured, “Please,” when Harry finally moves up to kiss him on the mouth. Harry tastes and explores Draco’s mouth as the blonde fingers the hair at the back of Harry’s neck, pulling him impossibly closer. 

“Do you have a preference for how we do this?” Harry asks between kisses along the column of Draco’s neck. 

Draco sucks in a sharp breath as Harry’s teeth nip and tease and the smooth, sensitive flesh of his throat, letting out a soft moan that goes straight to Harry’s cock. “Mm, I want you inside me,” Draco murmurs sensuously. 

Harry hums against Draco’s collarbone. “Good,” he mumbles against his skin and travels back down, beginning to release Draco’s erection from its confines, deftly unbuttoning his trousers. Draco lifts his hips to help Harry take off the trousers and pants in one go and then Draco is beautifully, gloriously naked before him, his cock hard and flushed, leaking against his hip. 

Harry leans down and licks the head of his cock, collecting the small drop of moisture there as Draco arches and whimpers below him. He sucks him carefully into his mouth, careful of his teeth, and it’s been so long since Harry’s done this, so many years that he hopes he doesn’t fuck this up, hopes that he gives Draco as much as he possibly can. 

Draco is vocal in bed as it turns out, breathy wines and gasps escaping him when Harry draws him entirely into his mouth or laps at the head with his tongue. Draco is a marvel to watch, and Harry can’t take his eyes off of him, even as he goes down all the way on his cock. The noises he makes and the expressions of blissed out pleasure, his brows pulling upward as if in surprise, all go straight to Harry’s dick, now throbbing to the point of pain, the tightness of his trousers more than just uncomfortable. 

But he ignores himself in favor of tracing a finger around Draco’s quivering entrance, teasing at the sensitive flesh there without actually breeching him. He trails down from Draco’s pulsing cock past his balls and licks at his entrance, loosening him on his tongue. He pushes gently past the ring of muscle, working Draco until his looser and pliant, begging for more. 

He places one last sinful kiss and then pulls back, Draco whining with frustration. Harry kisses the sensitive flesh of his thigh, squeezing it reassuringly. He moves to the bedside table and from his drawer retrieves lube and a condom. 

“You have too many clothes on,” Draco says accusingly and Harry lets out a soft chuckle, standing to have an easier time of taking off his trousers. He watches as slate eyes darken with need as Harry pops the button and releases his straining erection, flushed and harder than it’s ever been. 

He pours some of the lube on his fingers, allowing it to warm in his hand before drawing closer to Draco, but he hesitates before touching him. “It’s been… a long time since I’ve…” he trails off, nerves suddenly returning now that he’s not touching Draco. 

“That’s okay,” Draco whispers, eyes still dark with lust but his gaze full of something more, something affectionate. “I’ll lead you through it,” Draco says, a devilish glint flickering in his eye, and fuck, Harry wishes  _ that _ was something they could explore. But he’ll make do with this one time and make it as memorable as he possibly can. 

His fingers, wet and slick with lube, stroke Draco’s entrance, teasing him, and as a low moan escapes Draco, the tip of one finger breeches him. Harry carefully watches Draco’s face for any sign of pain or discomfort, but as his index finger is pushed in up to the knuckle, Draco only sighs and grips at Harry wherever he can get his hands on. 

Harry pauses and lets Draco adjust to the intrusion, but the other seems even more impatient for he pulls at Harry’s wrist, pleading, “More.” 

Harry obliges, a second finger entering with the first, pressing in slowly until they are as deep as they can be. Draco’s hole flutters around his fingers, clenching and pulling him endlessly deeper. He slowly works Draco open, scissoring his fingers carefully in preparation for his cock. 

He curls his fingers forward, searching for…  _ there _ , Draco keens restlessly, gasping sharply. Harry teases the sensitive area, watching with helpless fascination as Draco writhes beneath him. “ _ Please _ ,” Draco cries out again as his fingers tease his prostate with on more stroke before he withdraws his fingers. Harry picks up the condom, ready to tear it open, when Draco halts, him. “Can I?” he asks, sounding almost vulnerable for the brief second and Harry gives a breathless nod. 

Draco carefully rolls the condom on his throbbing cock, and even  _ that _ feels fucking amazing, just having Draco’s hands on him for half a moment is absolute bliss. Draco takes the lube from Harry and carefully pours some into his hand, tentatively stroking Harry. 

“ _ Oh, _ ” Harry lets out as his eyes shut instantly, his hips giving an involuntary thrust into Draco’s hand. Draco grins, and yes, there’s the glint again, and he strokes him more than is strictly necessary to slick him up. 

When he deems him ready, Draco spreads his legs invitingly, allowing Harry to settle in the space between. Looking up at Draco’s face to make sure this is still okay, the tip of his cock enters Draco at his nod. Draco lets out a huff of breath, already panting as he pulls at Harry’s hips, bringing him closer and causing his cock to slide deeper in. 

“Ah,  _ fuck _ ,” Harry groans out once he’s fully seated inside Draco, holding as still as he can for a moment both because he wants to give the other time to adjust and because he’s worried that in the tight, silky heat, he may come way too quickly. And he wants this to last. Draco’s fingers grip his back tightly, his small pants huffing at Harry’s ear. “You okay?” Harry manages to get out with heaving breaths, hips twitching from the instinct to  _ thrust _ and  _ take _ and chase his release. 

“Yes _ , _ Harry,  _ fuck me _ ,” he pleads, hands reaching to grab Harry’s arse and pull him in further than he’d thought possible to illustrate his point. 

“God,” Harry groans out, pulling out until only his tip is in before pressing forward again, beginning a slow, deep rhythm. He watches Draco’s face with fascination, the way his eyes roll back every time Harry thrusts all the way in, the way little pants and whimpers become moans in Harry’s ear when he adjusts his position slightly and brushes Draco’s prostate. 

Harry wants to maintain the slow rhythm, to continue just slowly driving his hips deeply into Draco and allow himself to be enveloped in the warm tight heat for hours, but it’s been so long since he’s been inside someone else, not to mention that he’s  _ waited _ so long for this very moment, and he feels his bollocks begin to tighten with impending release. 

“Dray,” he pants out, his hips beginning to thrust faster as Draco arches and moans beneath him, “‘m close.” 

“Fuck, me too,” Draco groans out, a hand reaching down to stroke himself but Harry intersects him, stroking Draco quickly while aiming consistently at his prostate, temporarily forgoing chasing his own release in favor of bringing Draco off first. 

And when he does, it’s spectacular, the simultaneous feel of him contracting around Harry, his come splattering his abs with clearish white fluid, the way he arches off the bed as his mouth opens in a perfect ‘o’... it rips Harry’s release from him, his cock spurting in the most intense orgasm he’s ever had, going on for what feels like a year and a second all at the same time. 

When he finishes, he collapses on top of Draco, ignoring the sticky fluid between them as they both come down from their highs. As their breaths become even once more, Draco’s fingers stroking Harry’s hair, it becomes impossible to ignore the drying come. 

Draco makes a face as Harry pulls out, removing the condom and tying the end before throwing it in the garbage on the way to the bathroom. He returns with a washcloth, wet with warm water, and gently cleans away the evidence of their intercourse. When they are both clean, Harry returns to the bed, and Draco immediately curls into his side, their legs entwined. 

Harry gently trails his fingertips up and down Draco’s spine, feeling the smooth flesh and protruding bones that are not as prominent as when they first met. Draco sighs softly, his breath brushing against Harry’s naked chest, and a deep surge of possessiveness and warmth fills him and he tightens his arms around Draco. 

“What do you want from me?” Draco breaths against his chest, voice soft and small, vulnerability laced through it. 

Harry huffs a breath, considering his answer for a moment. “I want whatever you’re willing to give… I just want you,” he says, fingers continuing tracing patterns along Draco’s back. 

“I don’t want to leave again,” Draco whispers some time later, words coming easier in the darkness of the room. 

“I don’t want you to either,” Harry whispers back, like a secret or a blessing. 

… 

_ A week and a year later _

“Draco, Harry, we’re so glad you came!” Hermione cries, embracing them both at the door. 

Harry smiles and hands her the bottle of wine they brought, following her into the flat with his fingers entwined with Draco’s. Upon reflection of the past year, things have finally fallen into place with the last holidays and Draco has been living with Harry ever since their night together. 

They’re out as a couple, news which was taken surprisingly well, especially for Ginny who is now seeing a rugby player. Draco has effortlessly entered Harry’s group of friends, just as he had Harry’s life. 

As the countdown for the new year begins, Harry sticks a hand in his pocket and draws Draco close, placing a kiss to his temple as they watch the numbers decrease. 

“3… 2… 1! Happy New Year!” Whoops of celebration and laughter surrounds them but Harry is only with Draco in that moment, pulling him in for a sweet kiss, the first of the year and hopefully their life together. 

As they pull away after a few moments, Harry pulls out the ring, holding it up for Draco to see with the question evident in his eyes. Draco rolls his eyes, muttering, “Sap,” and Harry grins as Draco leans in to kiss him. 

_ Fin. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is the end :) please please let me know what you all thought, I hope you enjoyed it almost as much I did writing it. Thanks for reading!


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